


Morbid Love

by Colelockian



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF John, BAMF Sherlock, Johnlock Fluff, Other, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:32:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colelockian/pseuds/Colelockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ex-soldier Dr. John Watson returns to London after serving in Afghanistan just as a deadly virus starts to spread, killing millions but some return with a hunger for living flesh!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pink Bathrobe

**Author's Note:**

> Watching The Walking Dead so I’m on a zombie spree, couldn't help but think of John and Sherlock during the apocalypse!*

He didn’t know where or when it started but the moment Dr. John Watson returned from Afghanistan the world had gone to shit, almost overnight! Stepping off the plane on to the tarmac, he was instantly bombarded.

“Are you a doctor?” A man in a black suit that closely resembled the men in black asked, yelling over the plan engine's still running nearby.

John was so taken aback by the severity of the way the question was asked that he was confused, “What?” He stammered. 

Suddenly the suited man grabbed John by the shoulders shaking him quite violently, “Are you a fucking doctor?” He hissed, there was mostly fear in his eyes.

If John hadn’t been so stunned soldier mode would have kicked in and the suited man would have been on the asphalt, “Yes, yes damnit, I am,” John snapped relieved when the other man stopped shaking him.

Without another word John was pulled away towards a waiting black SUV. He was thrown through the open door into the back and locked inside.

“Hey!” John shouted as the suited man yelled at the driver. 

The SUV lurched forward, tires squealing on the asphalt slamming John into the seat. It took only moments for him to collect himself.

“Where are you taking me?” John growled, beyond irritated.

The driver kept his eyes on the road as he responded, “I don’t know much," He drove well over the speed limit as the car went off the tarmac on to the public streets, “I was only told to collect any doctors unloading and take them to St. Bartholomew’s as quickly as possible.”

John fixed the man with a hard look his brown eyes searching him for answers. Like the suited man, the driver looking scared. Something big must have happened. “What’s happened?” The doctor side of John came out.

The driver shook his head turning the wheel sharply sending John sliding across the seat. Protesting horns followed them as the driver straightened the SUV. “Like I said I don’t know much. Last few days have been insane. One moment everything is fine the next the world's gone to Hell.” The man answered

John bit his lip, he wanted to press for more answers but it seemed he wouldn't get much out of the driver. He sat back in the seat and turned his attention to the passing buildings. 

The twenty-eight hour fight had left him exhausted and it sounded like something catastrophic had happened so it seemed he would go sleep deprived for a while. From the outside the car smoke and sirens fill the skies, something huge was definitely plaguing the city. The sight reminded John of the battlefield. 

“People been getting sick, not normal sick." The other man spoke suddenly, his words so quiet John almost missed them, "It starts with a cough and by nightfall you’re on the floor drowning in your own sick. If you live through that by the next morning you’re burning with a fever so hot it blisters your skin and by the next night you’re dead. Then there’s the rumors,” His voice faded, his knuckles clenched tightly to the steering wheel. 

John watched the driver’s face whiten “Rumors?” He pressed as the driver slammed on the brakes in front of St. Bart’s.

The door was pulled open not giving the driver any chance to answer as hands dragged John from the back.

“You are a doctor, yes?” A short woman asked fiercely.

John glanced back as the SUV sped away. “Yes, why am I here?” He snapped in response.

The woman waved for him to follow. “I’m Mary and we are swamped with incoming patients. We call in for every doctor we can find.” She explained John followed reluctantly.

“So you’ve resorted to kidnapping?” He questioned.

Mary threw him a look “You don’t understand,” She simply replied as they went inside.

John froze inside the doors, Mary was right he didn’t understand.

The lobby was crowded, packed with people. They were everywhere all in various degrees of illness. Blood was splashed in the crème titles with hundreds of bloody footprints tracking it in different directions. The room smelled of blood, sickness, and death. It was filled with pressing fear. Every person in the room was talking, their voice blending together all tight with terror.

“Doctor,” Mary urged.

John took a moment to pull himself together before fighting through the crowds.

“Please!” The people pleaded grabbing at his clothes, “Please!” They called together.

John only apologized and kept moving following Mary closely. Once through the throng it didn’t get much better. People still lined the halls.

“We don’t have the staff to take on this many and that is why we have taken extreme measures,” Mary spoke still leading him down the halls, "We've had to fight the other hospitals to get doctors here." 

“What is it?” John asked, throwing a glance from Mary.

“I wish I could tell you,” She answered as a woman screamed from a nearby room.

They paused in stunned surprised as the screaming woman rushed from her room straight into John. 

“God! Help me!” The woman yelled clutching John. To his horror her eyes were gushing blood. “God! Please!” Her voice cried as men pulled her from John.

“What the fuck?” John barely managed, noticing the woman’s blood had splattered on his jacket.

“It’s nothing we have ever seen,” Mary said softly.

John noted she wasn’t surprised by the state of the woman.

“What can you tell me?” John asked as they started down the hall again.

“Don’t let them bite you,” Mary replied.

He gave her a confused look that was missed. Why would a sick person bite him? Varying illnesses did cause strange reactions in people but biting? 

“Mary!” Mary!” Someone was shouting urgently.

A man pushed his way around people, his scrubs covered in blood, “We need you, now!” The man snapped when he spotted her

Mary leapt into action sprinting after the running man.

John followed.

Racing down the halls, they were able to spot the man hurrying into a room to the right.

Pushing inside they were met by a multitude of people moving around a bed, the heart monitor had flat lined. The blood covered man was yelling out orders but everyone was moving, doing things without his word. A nurse was pressing the paddles on to the exposed chest of the patient.

“Clear!” She shouted moments before the body convulsed under her.

John stood back knowing he would be more in the way than helpful.

The nurse with defibrillator called ‘clear’ a dozen more times before the room grew quiet. The machines were the only noise in the room as everyone sagged, defeated.

Mary stepped towards the blood covered man, laying her hand on his shoulder. “Jeremy,” She whispered, her eyes relaying an unspoken question.

John didn’t understand, glancing around, he noted everyone was looking to the man, waiting. Waiting for what? John wondered and had a horrible sinking feeling.

Jeremy sighed stepping from Mary’s hand, closing the distance between him and the bed. The man's entire being showed defeat and weariness.

Everyone moved back giving John a clear view of what was about to happen.

As Jeremy closed in on the bed he reached into his pocket and extracted a gun!

John gasped, staring as the doctor aimed at the dead man on the bed. “What the…” John was saying as the man pulled the trigger shooting the body in the head, cutting off any words from John’s mouth.

John stood with his mouth hanging open from the unfinished profanity after the sound faded completely, flabbergasted by what he had just watched. “Are you fucking insane?!” He shouted drawing every eye to him, “Why the fuck did you do that?!”

They all seemed stunned by his outburst. Jeremy looked at Mary, “New doctor?” He asked, getting a nod as a response. Mary stepped towards John who instinctively backed up. “Come out to the hall and let me explain,” She urged, stopping, and gestured to the door.

John glanced at her before his eyes darted to Jeremy’s pocket where the gun had disappeared to. It was outlined perfectly through the thin scrubs and John can't believe he missed it.

Reluctantly John obeyed, only to sate his curiosity. “Now what just happened?” He demanded once in the hall.

Mary sighed, looking extremely tired. “This illness is nothing like we have ever seen,” She stated.

John snorted, it was a bullshit excuse and revealed nothing. “You’ve mentioned that now get to the part about shooting dead patients in the head!” He snapped.

Mary gave him a long look, “You won’t believe me, no one does at first.” She told him. John fixed Mary with a glare until she continued; “Every patient we’ve had come in with this sickness dies within hours but they don’t exactly stay dead…” She faltered, her voice fading as she looked to him, her eyes pleaded with him.

“What?” John asked, not believing those words had just come from her mouth.

Mary shifted, “The dead are coming back to life,” She repeated weakly.

He stood staring at her before glancing around slowly as if waiting for the sick prank to end. “Are you fucking kidding me?” John said, “Do you really expect me to believe that bullshit? Mary, do you hear yourself? That’s insane and completely ridiculous!”

Mary pursed her lips; “I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. No one does,” She said as a new scream of terror erupted behind them.

John turned to see what the fuss was about.

A woman stood in the hall, feet from him, she was wearing a bright pink bathrobe loosely tied around her waist. Around her neck dried blood stained the pale skin. An odd growling sound was emanating from her as she stood hunched, looking around. Her eyes turned to John and he gasped.

The pupils were glazed almost white, like those of a corpse. The woman lurched towards him giving a throaty roar.

John reacted quickly drawing his gun from its hiding place tucked into the back of his pants without a second thought he pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit her heart directly but the woman didn’t seem to feel it and kept coming.

John froze for a second, astonished, before aiming his gun higher and released another shot.

The woman fell heavily to the floor, a fresh hole in her head. Thick congealed blood crept over the tiles.

John slowly lowered the gun, his heart pounding away at his rib cage. “What the…” John croaked, his mind in a whirl. The woman had been shot in the heart! That should have been enough to put her down but it wasn’t.

“Only head shots keep them down,” Mary whispered behind him.

John turned towards her starting to feel nauseous.

Mary had a grim look on her face, her eyes on the pink lady’s still form. “Believe me now?” She asked, a single tear rolling down her face.


	2. Savior

**One Month Later...**

_ Jesus Fucking Christ! _

John thought frantically pressing himself closer into the dumpster. For the last five minutes he had been running and it seemed to be doing little good with the rampaging horde of corpse.

_ I need to get out of the fucking city! _

This wasn’t the first time John had thought this but he felt too responsible for the people inside the hospital.

A week ago they had run out of food and he had volunteered to venture outside to scavenge. That had been a day ago.

John had gone to every store within the surrounding blocks and was lucky enough to find a decent amount of canned goods.

Then this fucking horde came out of nowhere and started swarming the streets around the hospital!

John had very nearly been eating about a dozen times.

_ I can’t give up on them. _

He knew that it was a bad idea but he wasn’t going to let those dozen or so people relying on him to die.

Biting the inside of his cheek John peeked around the heavy metal dumpster. A few walkers shuffled beyond the alley.

At least it’s not a horde. John sighed internally. Don’t sound so cheerful, this place is still fucked up!

He had been doing that a lot lately. John was at war with himself, the doctor and soldier in him were having a difficult time coexisting especially now that the world was…for lack of better words…fucked up.

Leaning back into the dumpster, John’s elbow connected with the side making a loud echoing bang, he froze. Hoping to God that the corpse would write it off as one of their own.

An animalistic growl shattered that hope.

Shit! John shouted mentally, pushing himself to his feet and sprinted down the alley, not looking back to see if he was indeed being followed.

The hungry screams and cries following him was enough to confirm that.

John searched frantically for an open door, for a narrow side alley, or somewhere he could get them thinned enough he wouldn’t have a problem bashing their skulls in. He had his gun (for emergencies only) and a sharpened piece of metal with duct tape for a handle, barbaric but efficient.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” John chanted as he ran, eyeing the other end of the alley.

Please, don’t have more waiting! Coming out John’s fear level leapt as he skid to a stop. More fucking zombies!

He barely took the time to see a dozen more corpse lingering in the street before taking off away from them, listening as their running feet joined those already following. Ducking into another alley John looked for more sharp turns that might help him lose them.

Right, left, right, right, left. John weaved in and out of alleys, losing some and gaining others.

At least it’s not a horde! The doctor side tried again to be cheerful.

_Shut the fuck up!_ Even John was agreeing with soldier side right now.

Throwing a glance over his shoulder, John saw that a little over a dozen were still after him. Spying a narrow dead end John decided to make his stand. Putting his back to the wall, John had his weapon ready.

The zombies weren’t shy and they rushed him just as they always do.

Keeping his empty hand back, John swung decapitating two in one swoop. Kicking out while he recovered, John forced the others back.

_Too many!!_ John’s thoughts screamed, cutting through another one.

As he moved to recover one barreled into him, John managed to remain upright and pulled his arm up against the monster's throat.

It roared in his face, wriggling and snapping to get at him.

John brought his weapon up and pushed through the thing's head.

Another one was on him instantly.

“Shit!” John growled knowing he was minutes away from being the main course.

Suddenly the weight was gone in a swirl of black.

John was stunned, leaning into the wall as relief washed through him.

A man had joined him in the small back alley. The newcomer was a whirl as he swung, bodies were dropping left and right.

Noticing the approach of more zombies, John pulled himself back to his senses and moved into help. Keeping an eye on his savior, John made his way through the incoming dead. Left, right, kick, left, right, kick. John came up on the last walker.

Before he could swing the other man dove in shoving a very sharp look sword, yes sword, right through the corpse. Silence followed as the body fell.

John couldn’t help but stare at the man.

“Follow me,” His savior snapped stowing his sword and started running down the alley.

Startled, John threw himself forward, and  hurried to keep up. His shorter legs had to work hard and he was doing a decent job but the almost two days without sleep were getting to the ex-soldier.

The taller man seemed to sense this and slowed his pace.

Navigating the back alleys, John followed the mysterious man for several minutes without a word. He couldn’t help but scan the area with every new turn and was surprised they were all clear.

“Most of these alleys are blocked off from the main roads,” The man spoke quietly.

John heard but still kept a lookout.

A few more minutes before the tall man stopped by a door and pulled out a key. Unlocking the door he opened it and gestured for John to enter.

He eyed the darkness within with a moment’s hesitation but saw no better solution. Diving in John was quickly followed by the taller man. The darkness was pressing and made John almost panic. A click and lights suddenly came alive.

“Solar generator,” His savior replied to John’s unspoken question before striding gracefully further into the room.

John looked around. He was now in a very neat little room that looked more like a stage than anything. He was standing in a living room occupied by a couch to his right, two armchairs in front of him with a coffee table in between them, and a desk piled with papers pressed the wall near the furthest armchair.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” The taller man asked.

John looked to the man, seeing him properly for the first time.

He was a full head taller than the short doctor. A mop of clean and curly black hair topped his head. Green/blue eyes searched John with a look of impatience. The man wore a black Belstaff and a blue scarf wrapped around a slim white neck. In between the folds of black John spotted a spotless white button up and black slacks matched with shining dress shoes.

The taller man sighed; a look of irritation went across his features. He began pulled black leather gloves from his white fingers and stuffed them in his pockets.

“Are you in shock? By your calm domineer I would say no, you’ve seen battle before so something like this doesn’t bother you and you are a doctor so definitely not in shock.” The man spouted out.

John stared at him wanting nothing more than to question the mystery man but he suddenly felt his legs give out, slumping into the wall behind him. John barely managed to keep himself upright before sliding to the floor. A blurred dark figure approached as John fell quickly unconscious.   
  



	3. Why Him?

Sherlock Holmes was never one to care and the end of humanity did little to change him of that. The quiet was something Sherlock had come to really enjoy, no traffic noise or boring buzz of daily conversation, but when the world stopped so did everything else. This annoyed the man to no end!

_ Now I’m stuck being alone with nothing to do!  _ He thought, scratching his arm that had nicotine patches stuck to it. Sherlock couldn’t just sit in his safe haven, not when it got so boring he was half tempted to make enough noise to draw a horde of dead.

_ That wouldn’t be very intelligent… _

Sherlock knew that at any moment he could get out of the infected zone but that would mean contacting his brother which would lead to being locked inside a dark hole with even less to do. He shuddered at the thought.

_ Locked in a hole with Mycroft…I’ll take my chances with the dead. _

After a week locked inside Sherlock needed to wander, he needed the silence of the streets or a few corpse to chop up, either one would be a nice change.

So there he was strolling down the street, not bothered by the group of dead approaching. When they got too close Sherlock dealt with them skillfully and kept right on walking.

He had been out for hours cutting down dead to his heart content, growing bored when they went down too easily.

As Sherlock passed an alley he caught sight of a running man. Backing up he watched the man sliding around a corner closely followed by a large number of corpse.

_ Not good…that’s a dead end. You’ll get trapped in there… _

Sherlock stood pondering before curiosity drove him towards the alley. Peeking around the corner Sherlock watched the short man in the dead end.

_ Soldier and doctor…near middle aged…hasn’t slept in a day, no two days almost…scavenging for food meaning he’s with a bigger group… _

As Sherlock deduced the man, a corpse flew into the fighting doctor throwing him to the wall. Sherlock was surprised the man didn’t fall but he did look to be struggling.

When that corpse was down another followed. “Shit!” the man in the alley hissed and Sherlock knew if he didn’t jump in to help the man wouldn’t last much longer.

_ Why help him?  _ Pulling out his trusty sword without pondering the thought, Sherlock stepped forward taking one corpse from behind.

A few others were in his way but they were simple. Pulling the one from the doctor, Sherlock went back to slaying the others.  Noting more were coming, Sherlock glanced over just as the other man flew back into action.

_ Lots of stamina... _ He observed before throwing himself into battle. The doctor was coming in to finish off the last walker when Sherlock felt an urge to show off.

Hurrying in front of the other man, Sherlock sliced into the corpse. The short man did indeed look at him in awe. Sherlock let a small smile cross his lips before schooling his features back to one of disinterest.

"Follow me," Sherlock heard himself say.

_ What?!  _ He was surprised by the words that had slipped out of his mouth. Sherlock wanted this man to live. Why?  _ Why indeed... _

Moving on Sherlock hurried away, gladly noting that the other man followed without hesitation. He led him through the safe back alleys before noticing the doctor had slowed down.

_ No sleep and no food...he has to be exhausted.  _ Sherlock glanced to see the man looking around, hand fingering an exposed handgun.

"Most of these alleys are blocked from the main roads." Sherlock spoke hoping to reassure the man.

If he heard, the doctor gave no indication, and only continued to follow.

Coming up on his haven, Sherlock pulled out his key and unlocked the door, gesturing for the other man to go first.

The doctor looked inside with a bit of hesitation before moving into the darkness.

Sherlock followed closing and locking the door behind him.

The other man stood staring around the room without saying a word when the lights came on.

"Solar generator," Sherlock answered the doctor's silent question.

He was on the verge of asking the man if he wanted food or rest when Sherlock caught his gaze.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” It was irritating since the man hadn’t spoken a single word. “Are you in shock? By your calm domineer I would say no, you’ve seen battle before so something like this doesn’t bother you and you are a doctor so definitely not in shock.”

The man still didn't speak instead he slumped to the floor, passed out.

Sherlock stepped towards the doctor, glad to see he was still breathing.

_ Never had that reaction to a deduction before.  _ Sherlock thought smugly looking down on the man, crouching for a better look and saw more than before.

_ Army medic, shoulder injury...shot? Sent home invalid, never had a serious relationship, abusive father...alcoholic most likely, younger sibling...older brother? Hasn't showered in two weeks, still applies deodorant…Better get him off the floor before that shoulder gets stiff… _

Carefully Sherlock was able to lift the unconscious man and carrying him to the bedroom through the kitchen. Laying him gently on the bed, Sherlock stepping back,

_ Get his shoes off, he’ll be more comfortable…And his jacket.  _ Quickly Sherlock did just that. Pulling the covers over the man, he backed out of the room. Standing in the kitchen alone, Sherlock wasn’t sure what to do with himself until the doctor woke.

_ Can’t leave him alone, can’t be loud…he needs rest, food and water…that’s what he’ll need.  _ Proud of his new found insight to human interaction, Sherlock filled up a cup from the tap, glad once again for the solar generator.

Quietly moving back into the bedroom he set the cup on the side table for the doctor to find before hurrying back into the kitchen.

_ Now food…what do I have? _

Scouring the cupboards Sherlock produced a box of squashed pasta, a tomato, a small stick of butter, and a garlic clove.

_ Might need to get some food later…but for now this will do… _

Sherlock wasn’t much for eating. He could spend days without touching anything edible. He knew it wasn’t the healthiest but when he was working, food was a distraction and he hated distractions.

Following the instructions on the pasta and a little improvisation, Sherlock created something that smelled like food and was hot.


	4. Not a Threat

Food! John could smell food. Not only did he smell food but it was hot food. The delicious aroma filled every cell of the doctor’s starved frame. The smell of food was strong enough to wake him but it wasn’t enough to motivate John into getting up just yet.

Somehow he had ended up lying nearly clothed on a very, soft and comfortable bed.

The last thing John remembered was being saved by a mystery man and walking into a strange little building with working electricity.

Opening his eyes, he took a moment to observe his surroundings. What John could see, he was in a bedroom, a neat little room with few things and nothing of note.

Slowly the doctor sat, the last of his exhaustion melting away. The room was plain with an uninhabited feeling. He noticed a glass of water sitting invitingly on a bedside table. The water stood no chance against the ex-soldier, mere seconds later the glass returned, empty.

Closing his eyes, feeling the cool wetness seeping through his body, John felt a shred of tension fall away.

A muffled clatter of dishes being used caught the doctor’s curiosity.

Removing the covers and placing his bare feet on the floor, John stood. Creeping silently for the door, solider mode fully initiated, he slowly twisting the knob and eased the door open to peer out.

John could see a tall man with his back towards him. The man’s body swayed slightly as he moved. The sound of sizzling and the smell of melted butter hit John. An audible growl rumbled from the soldier but it was drowned out by the tall man suddenly tossing a cup into the sink nearby.

Once the man’s attention was fully focused on the cooking, John slipped out into the kitchen eyeing a knife sitting on the table. What he was going to do, the doctor wasn’t sure but he hated not knowing what was going on and he was going to get answers no matter the cost.

Sliding his feet along the floor so as not to make any noise, John made his way closer to the table, his hand stretching for the weapon

“Doctor, I assure you that is not necessary,” The tall man at the stove spoke, his deep baritone voice reverberating through John’s chest.

The soldier froze his eyes on the man’s back, hand hovering just over the knife.

With an irritated huff the other man turned, the sharpness of his cheekbones was dramatic casting deep shadows on his face.John watched the man, slowly straightening but still ready to spring into action.

“If I were a threat I would have taken my opportunity while you were passed out in my bed,” The mystery man spoke quickly with a very annoyed tone, “As it is I, who saved you, think even you would be able to come to the understanding that I mean you no harm.”

John felt absolutely silly now that it had been spelled out for him like that but of course he would never admit that to this stranger. The man stared at the doctor. They just stood facing each other without speaking.

“I made you food,” The mystery man told him.

John blinked at him, “What?”

The man frowned. “Has the apocalypse addled your brain or have you always been this slow?” The doctor glared at the man for the insult but didn’t interrupt as he continued speaking, “I made you food. I deduced you hadn’t eaten in sometime.” With that the man turned back to the stove.

“Deduced?” John asked curiously.

“Yes doctor, deduction is my specialty,” The tall man muttered setting a plate of pasta on the table.

“Deductions, like observing and stuff?”

The other man smirked. “Sit, eat, and I’ll tell you.” He said.

John didn’t need to be asked twice. Sitting down quickly, it took all his control not to forget the fork, and just start shoveling with his fingers.

“Yes, observing and stuff is what I do,” The man confirmed in a mocking tone, watching the doctor eat.

“That’s how you knew I was a doctor,” John asked, getting a nod from the other man.

“And that you are a soldier sent home invalid from, Iraq or Afghanistan?” The last part was a question.

“Afghanistan, but how did you get that?” John was in awe.

“The tan line on your arms and neck, it suggests tight clothing which can come from a uniform, not from holiday. Plus your stance and haircut are strictly military disciplined.”

“So it’s mostly guessing?” The doctor asked before taking a large bite.

The other man snorted, “I never guess!” He huffed.

John chuckled “That was amazing by the way,” He added receiving a surprised look from the man.

“Really?”

“Extremely,”

“That’s not what most people say,” The other man murmured, a bit of color rising in his pale cheeks.

“What do they say?”

“Piss off.”

John chuckled, pushing the empty plate away from him. “Well if it makes you feel better those people are probably dead.”

The other man chuckled. They soon were laughing in earnest.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” John snorted glancing over at the man.

“You don’t hear me complaining.” He said a wide smile on his face.

“We have a morbid sense of humor,” The doctor returned the smile.

“Well you are a doctor and a soldier,” the other man pointed out, “And I used to consult for New Scotland Yard so I’ve seen my share of dead bodies.”

“And now we also reside in the zombie apocalypse, it seems fate knew what it was doing with us.” John said.

“It seems so,” The other man agreed.

They looked at each other, smiling. It was the first pleasant human interaction either of them had experienced in some time and it felt good, almost relaxing.

“I’m John Watson by the way,” John introduced himself, holding out his hand.

The man looked down at the offered hand before bringing his eyes back to John’s.

“Sherlock Holmes,” The taller man greeted taking the hand and giving it a shake.


	5. I've Never

This doctor was an intriguing man. He was definitely special, not the usual dullness of average people. The man had a spark, drawing Sherlock to him like a moth to a flame. Speaking to him, Sherlock could almost forget the apocalypse. 

“So Mr. Holmes, why did you save me?” John asked, genuine curiosity on his face.

Sherlock stared at the man feeling a twinge of attraction. That was new, the tall man didn’t usual find anybody attractive, male or female. Sherlock didn’t find anyone that interesting, most people appalled him with their inability to think but this soldier before him was…to be blunt, hot! It was alarming.

“I was bored saving you gave me something to do.” Not exactly a lie, Sherlock had indeed been bored but saving John had been more of a whim, one that he is glad he entertained.

“Well I'm pleased my life-threatening moment was entertaining for you,” The doctor teased with an eye roll.

That husky laugh was thrilling, sending a pleasant shiver down Sherlock's spine.“It’s better to talk with someone then to the zombies.” He explained. The casual way that they were conversing was stimulating, Sherlock only had these types of conversations with his brother but unlike those times, Sherlock wouldn't feel like a child at the end.

Chuckling John nodded. “I pegged you as the loner type,”

“I am a high-functioning sociopath,” Sherlock clarified. 

“Right, I can definitely see that,” The doctor said, sounding the least bit convinced.

Sherlock glared, it was the first time anyone had disbelieved in his self-proclamation. People normally had no trouble in believing him, though most of those people were dull and stupid. 

“If you were a so called sociopath you wouldn’t have saved me even if you were bored,” John pointed out, smiling triumphantly.

Sherlock snorted, bewildered that he was hearing those words coming from this near stranger’s mouth. John hadn't seen the real him yet and would understand when he did. “How many are in your group back at the hospital?” He asked changing the subject.

John stared at him in disbelief; “How on earth did you come by that?”

Sherlock smiled knowing he will never tire in explaining his deductions to John or hearing the amazement in his voice. “When we first met I noticed the bag of canned goods, obviously more people to feed than just yourself. You are a doctor, probably recruited after landing at the airport and taking to St. Bart’s. So naturally you and your group resides at the hospital.”

John shook his head, “Brilliant!” He said wholeheartedly, “And to answer your question; about a dozen. We’re on the second floor in the hospital, makes it easier to defend.”

“Getting out of the city would be the best plan,” Sherlock told him and he felt a slight pain at the idea of John leaving the city.

“Would you come if we left?” John asked.

The taller man stared, noting something in the other man’s voice but not really sure what to make of it. “No I wouldn’t,” Sherlock saw the disappointment in John’s eyes, “I am a single person and it won’t be as hard for me to survive in the city.”

The doctor sighed and sat back in the chair that was quickly becoming his. “Then I don’t want to leave,” He murmured.

Sherlock couldn’t help but feel a small, sad smile spread across his face. John's instincts were to protect and finding Sherlock meant another person for the doctor to protect, he already had too many. 

“We should get that food to the hospital,” He said. It was best if they parted ways before this encounter lead to trouble for Sherlock. He couldn't have someone care about, especially in these times. It was much too risky. Sherlock stood and moved to grab the bag of cans.

“Really?” John asked, following as he glanced at the only clock available, “It’s near dark we shouldn’t be out there,” He cautioned, his tone suggested he wanted to remain in this safe haven as long as possible.

Looking at the same clock the taller man found John was right. Being on the streets after dark was the meaning of stupidity especially now with the dead. Not to mention the hundreds of other frightened survivors that may or may not be so friendly. “Very well, we’ll just have to wait until morning.” Sherlock agreed the least bit disappointed _.  _ He didn’t want this fantastic man out of his sight just yet. Studying the clock a little longer, the detective calculated the time between here and the hospital, and found they could have made it there before dark without a problem but decided not to mention it.

“Since we’re in for the night, do you want to shower?” Sherlock questioned, receiving an expected look of surprise and confusion.

The man looked utterly enthralled with the idea, “Shower, as in an actual shower?” John asked disbelieving, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. He made it sound as if he hadn't showered in months when in reality it had only been weeks.

Sherlock snorted, highly amused and completely out of character. “Obviously an ‘actual shower’.” He snapped as an answer though it carried little heat.

John rolled his eyes without countering and looked on in anticipation.

Sherlock eyed the man a moment before sighing and moved into the kitchen and headed towards the door next to his room. The bathroom was a tight space that barely fit the two side by side.

“Towels there, you can use my shampoo, and go easy on the hot water.” The taller man instructed turning towards John as he spoke.

John’s eyes drifted around the small room, coming to a halt on Sherlock. “Hot water!” He breathed excitedly. The doctor was like a child in that moment. 

The taller man nodded, trying and failing to hide his amusement.

Maneuvering around the smaller man, Sherlock managed to force himself out of the bathroom into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. He listened as John started the shower and was shortly followed by the rustle of the shower curtain.

Sherlock sighed with content it had been a long time since he had felt these strong of feelings. Most of the time he kept them locked away lest they interfered with the Work. Now they bubbled up inside him, swirling through his veins in the most pleasant and distracting way.

_ This John might be something to look into,  _ He thought setting dishes in the sink before stopping, staring at the dishes. Sherlock had absentmindedly started doing the dishes,  _ I’m doing dishes? Why am I doing dishes? _

Sherlock was floored, he only did dishes out of necessity and even then it was rare. Usually Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, would do the cleaning when the mess became unbearable but never in his adult life had Sherlock cleaned up after himself. Normally if a dish looked somewhat clean he would use it without any thought. 

Something had changed, John had changed Sherlock in the few short hours he had known him and it was unnerving. What could the unassuming doctor accomplish in a longer span of time?

Sherlock shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind. He needed to distance himself and understand what was truly going on. Sherlock pulled himself away from the sink into the living room, away from the noise of the shower. On his chair sat a beautiful dark red wood of a violin, his beautiful violin. Sherlock smiled at the familiar thing dragging a finger over the smooth surface.

Grabbing it up, he plucked the strings and began to tune it until he was happy with the sound. Snatching up the bow from the desk, Sherlock drew it across the strings slowly before going into a song of his own composition. It was a slow content piece that flowed through the flat. Sherlock knew that he should probably keep the noise down but he was confident in his barricades. 

As the music moved about, Sherlock closed his eyes feeling each note streaming from him.  The quiet sound of the bathroom door being opened sounded in the violinist’s ears but he kept playing, listening hard to the steps that drew John into the living room.

He played for some minutes more before drawing the last note out in an echoing sound. Still holding his position, Sherlock sighed and opened his eyes before slowly lowering the instrument. Turning he found John seated in the remaining armchair in the living room, looking like he belonged.

John smiled giving Sherlock a quiet applause. “Wonderful!” The doctor exclaimed. His hair still damp and stuck up at different angles.

Sherlock smiled, mocking a bow before setting the violin gently down on the desk. “It was acceptable,” He said flopping on to his chair. Turning to dangle his long legs over one of the arms, Sherlock lounged.

John watched shaking his head and chuckling. “So Mr. Holmes…” He started instantly getting interrupted by Sherlock.

“Sherlock,” The taller man corrected turning his head to look at the doctor.

“Right, Sherlock,” John started again, “Earlier you mentioned you consulted for Scotland Yard.”

“Yes, that is correct,”

“Were you a private detective or something?”

“Or something,” Sherlock answered but didn’t go on just continued to stare at the doctor. John looked comfortable even with the taller man’s eyes on him. Normally people found Sherlock’s eyes uncanny but the smaller man sat back in the other chair, smiling seeming not affected by the gaze.

_ Interesting… _

John was becoming more and more unique in Sherlock’s mind.

“And what was that exactly?” The doctor pressed clearly very curious.

Sherlock sighed throwing his head back into the armrest behind his head. “A consulting detective, doubt that will make much sense to you.” He huffed in annoyance.

“That’s not a real thing, is it now.” John chuckled.

Sherlock spun in his seat until his feet hit the floor with a loud slap. “Of course it’s real!” He snapped, the doctor blinked surprised by the other man’s tone.

“Alright, sorry just never heard of a consulting detective,” He mumbled.

Sherlock sighed, “You wouldn’t have heard of it, I made up the job.”

“But you just said…”

“I’m the World’s only consulting detective, I help solve cases that no one else can,” The taller man clarified examining his fingernails in a bored fashion while keeping John’s presence in mind.

“Scotland Yard went to an amateur?” The doctor asked.

Sherlock glared, “Amateur, No, not at all. Older brother, alcoholic?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your older brother is an alcoholic, left his wife mmm…three months ago, no four months ago not that it matters now.”  The taller man spoke quickly watching John’s eyes widen.

“How did you…” He went to ask before flinching as an object was thrown at him. Instinctively the ex-soldier caught it, surprised to find his cell phone.

“Where…”

“Nicked it from your bag.” Sherlock answered before the question was even out.

“It doesn’t work.” John told him hearing a snort.

“Obviously but I didn’t need to turn it on to find all I needed,” The other man said, “Silly to keep it.”

“I know,” John sighed, “So how do you know about Harry?”

“First, engraving on the phone, H.W. obviously a relative. Someone fairly close that least enough to mail an old device to so that narrowed it down to a sibling. Next, it says; ‘love, Clara’, wife not girlfriend. An expensive phone like this and only a few months old. If she had left him, he would have kept it, so he left her. Last, scratches around the port suggest shaking hands while being plugged in at night. It’s a stretch but alcoholism is my conclusion.” Sherlock finished watching the bewilderment building on John’s face.

“Amazing!” The doctor breathed.

“Not an amateur,” Sherlock smiled with a wink and feeling very smug. “Did I get it right?” He was curious now, he knew he had most of it right but there was always something.

“Harry is short for Harriet,” John answered with a soft smile.

Sherlock glared and pouted, “Damn, sister! There's always something." He snapped at himself hearing a chuckle from John.

“It was still brilliant,” He assured, “Mind if I make some tea, I noticed a kettle?”

“Very well,” Sherlock waved a hand at the man.

Sherlock’s eyes followed John into the kitchen and watched him bob about as if he lived there. The smaller man moved around, humming as he worked. The taller man stretched his neck up to see over the damned armchair blocking most of his view of the kitchen.

Sherlock growled to himself settling down barely satisfied with his menial view of John. Eyes drifting after the doctor, Sherlock noted the man’s movements. Every now and then John would limp but he had been shot in the shoulder so why a limp?

_ Psychosomatic limp… _ Sherlock concluded eyes moving along the doctor’s body. Several minutes passed before John returned from the kitchen carrying two steaming cups.

“Here I got you one too, though I don’t know how you take yours.” He said pausing beside Sherlock’s chair holding the cup out.

Sherlock blinked at the cup before his eyes darted to the doctor’s face. “Thank you,” The taller man found himself saying as he accepted the cup, “Black, two sugars in the future.” He added. 

John nodded, moving for the chair that had becomes his in the short amount of time.

“So this zombie thing, you know what happened?” John asked taking a drink of his tea.

“Does it matter?” Sherlock asked, not seeing the point of his knowing.

“Just curious." The smaller man said.

Sherlock eyed the man, before relenting; “A disease,” He answered, grabbing John’s attention, “I was lucky enough to view a few sample before everything fell. The virus was aggressive with an incubation period of three days. It’s nothing like I have seen before. There were characteristics of influenza and bubonic plague but nothing concessive. You saw the symptoms; there was nothing that could help slow it down. Quarantines did nothing, people panicked, it was absolute chaos.” 

John sighed rubbing his forehead. “Is it an air pathogen, in water maybe?”

Sherlock sighed. “It’s in everything. You either get sick or you don’t but you carry…whatever it is it's with you.”

“I think I need something a little stronger than tea,” John said and stood.

“There’s some vodka under the sink,” Sherlock informed him.

John nodded and went to retrieve the bottle. 

Sherlock heard him clamoring about for a few minutes before returning with a triumphant grin.

“I figured you'd have some good stuff, " He commented, setting the nearly full bottle down on the coffee table. "We need to make a toast,” The doctor told Sherlock.

“You go ahead I’m not one for alcohol,” The taller man declined, noting the two waiting glasses.

“Oh come on Sherlock! Have one drink with me,” John pleaded pouring a generous amount of the drink, “Pretty please!”

“A word cannot have a physical appearance so putting ‘pretty’ before please does not persuade one,” Sherlock snapped glaring at the doctor.

John pushed out his bottom lip and gave him a pair of puppy dog eyes, holding out one of the glasses.

“Fine, but only one,” The taller man gave in, taking the drink.

John laughed in triumph, holding his own glass up. “What should we toast to?” He asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You were the one wanting a toast and me to drink. You can’t expect me to have a prepared speech.” He told the doctor.

John stuck his tongue out at the taller man.

Sherlock froze.

John was being playful even after being told some dire information but the soldier had gone from the expected reaction to that of a much younger man. Sherlock watched John sit back in his chair, thinking.

Sherlock watched the expression on the face change from one to the next before returning to the one before. The taller man enjoyed how expressive John’s face was. The doctor was practically an open book, very easily read even without saying a word.

“Ok here we go, I got one but don’t laugh,” John finally said sitting forward again and raising his glass towards Sherlock’s.

Sherlock copied him waiting. John’s blue eyes found his, focusing intently on the pupils.

“A toast to new friends and the preservation of mankind or what’s left of it anyway,” The doctor spoke quietly, knocking their glasses together carefully. Lowering his, John drained it quickly.

Sherlock sipped his, feeling the alcohol burn all the way down. He never much enjoyed alcohol, it impaired his cognitive and that was something he couldn't tolerate. “You think of me as a friend?” He couldn’t help but ask.

John blinked at him for a moment before answering. “Of course, you saved me.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Sherlock assured, hoping John did truly think of him as a friend.

“Sherlock, I might not know you very well but I do know that you’re not as much of a sociopath, high-functioning or not, as you think, you are a wonderful violinist, and play with so much emotion. You were willing to put your life at risk to save me. Knowing just that I want to be your friend.”

Those words were strong and Sherlock had heard nothing like them when it came to describing him. Not even his brother had ever come close to anything like that.

“I’ve never had a friend before,” Sherlock said softly taking a swift drink.

John’s eyes widened, “Never?” He sounded disbelieving.

Sherlock didn’t need words to answer so he just shook his head, occupying his mouth with finishing off his drink. Holding the empty cup out, the taller man allowed John to fill it up again.

“Hey, let’s play a drinking game,” John suddenly blurted out, a not very subtle way of trying to change the subject, “Each one of us will say something they’ve never done and if the other one has they have to drink.”

“Not a very interesting game,” Sherlock snorted.

John glared. “I’ll go first Mr. Party Pooper. I have never been in prison.” He watched as Sherlock took a drink. “Really?” the doctor asked in surprise.

“It was for a case, it was only for a week,” The taller man vaguely explained. Waiting a moment before speaking again, “I guess that means it my turn,” He sighed, “I’ve never been in the army,” There was a wicked grin after that.

John chuckled taking a drink. “Prick,” He murmured afterwards. As he swallowed, John took his turn; “I’ve never broken a bone.”

Sherlock took several drinks.

“You only have to take one drink,” John reminded.

Sherlock shrugged. “I’ve broken almost every bone in my body. I thought the turn deserved more than one drink,” He handed his glass over to get refilled.

The doctor laughed and obliged before Sherlock continued the game; 

“I’ve never been to Afghanistan,”

“Now you’re just being obvious!”

“You never said I couldn’t,” Sherlock pointed out.

John rubbed his head. “The point of the game is learning stuff about each other without being asked awkward questions.”

“Fine, I’ve never been called anyone’s friend before today,” Sherlock countered .

John shook his head taking a drink. “I think you’re being obvious just to get me drunk,” He said chuckling.

“We wouldn’t need to be playing this silly game for that to happen,” Sherlock said starting to feel a slight buzz building.

John burst out with a laugh. “I think after everything that has happened we both deserve to get utterly pissed,” He stated.

Sherlock chuckled .“I’ll toast to that,” He raised his glass.

“To getting utterly pissed!” John announced beaming, his cheeks tinting from the alcohol.

They both drank.

“I believe it is my turn,” The doctor said, getting no disagreement from Sherlock, “I’ve never worn a dress.”

The taller man shrugged and took a drink.

“Seriously? I was going for absurd!” John laughed.

“It was for a case,” Sherlock said simply, “I’ve never had anyone not believe me when I said I was a sociopath,”

John smiled, taking a drink. “Well if you’re keeping track I said that twice in less than an hour.” He pointed out watching a smile grow on the other man’s face.

“I’ve never been to the States,” The doctor said not surprised when Sherlock took a drink, “Let me guess ‘it was for a case’?” He asked.

Sherlock shook his head. “No, vacation when I was a child. Not particularly entertaining.” He paused before going on, “I’ve never been to medical school,” He threw in another wicked smile.

“Now I know you are trying to get me drunk!” John laughed refilling his cup after draining it.

“I’m trying to end this game,” Sherlock corrected.

“I’ve never kissed a man,” The doctor said watching the taller man closely.

Sherlock kept his eyes on John as he took a drink finishing the glass. “I have no preference in gender,” He said simply keeping the excitement from his features.

“So no girlfriend…or…boyfriend?” John asked timidly.

Sherlock smiled softly. “No one, up until the apocalypse I considered myself married to my work now…I don’t know what I am.” 

John stared at him before noticing he was and cleared his throat, looking away. “Well then you are like me on that front,” He spoke quietly draining his glass, “And with that I’m going go to sleep thanks for playing with me.”  John said as he stood, stretching his arms and wincing a bit.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked standing as well, moving closer to stand next to the other man.

Rubbing his shoulder John gave a reassuring smile. “My shoulder hurts if I’m not careful with it, still a bit tender after getting shot.” He explained.

“Well go lay down on the bed and I’ll give it a quick massage,” Sherlock said, waving towards the bedroom.

John stared at him dumbfounded. “What?”

Sherlock huffed, spinning the doctor and pushed him a bit. “Go, lie down,” He instructed.

John started moving, glancing back at the taller man confused.

Smiling, Sherlock went about double checking the door locks and turning off lights before heading to the bedroom.

John was lying on his stomach as stiff as a board, looking rather uncomfortable.

Sherlock snorted at the man grabbing his attention. 

They looked hard at each other for a long moment, there was an unspoken trust there but both were nervous. There was a tension in the air that felt on the urge of erupting. At this moment anything could happen.

“Take your shirt off,” The taller man instructed, his deep baritone through the thickness.

John looked like he wanted to protest but rolled over and sat up a little, reluctantly taking his shirt off.

Sherlock’s eyes wandered over the exposed skin with a faint grin before moving closer to the bed. “Lie down on your stomach,”

John pursed his lips, without a word he did as he was told.

The genius spotted the scar and winced. Pink, health but very scarred flesh clung to the shoulder. Reaching out a hand Sherlock touched the ruined skin.

John flinched, hissing through his teeth.

“Does that hurt?” The taller man asked.

Turning his head, the doctor looked at him; “No it’s just sensitive,” John replied with a smile.

Sherlock nodded, taking off his shoes as he knelt on the bed over John, and began kneading the tight back muscles. As a child Sherlock helped his mother by massaging her neck when she was stressed so he was very good and very comfortable with this sort of touching.

John groaned into the pillow. “That feels amazing!” The doctor mumbled, his voice muffled by the fabric.

Sherlock smiled but felt like the angle was off so he pulled a leg over John’s bottom and straddled the man.

“What are you doing?” The doctor asked, turning his head to be heard, and sounding a little panicked.

“I have a better angle from here. I’ll do a better job if I am able to get it just right.” Sherlock replied, grinding his palms into John’s back effectively silencing him.

“God, where did you learn to do this?” John asked some minutes later.

Sherlock smiled with amusement and satisfaction, hearing the relaxed tone in the doctor’s voice. “I used to give massages to my mother as a child and it's Sherlock, not God.” John chuckled at that last bit. Sherlock felt the sound vibrate through the man’s chest and up his hands, it tingled.

“Git,” The doctor muttered snuggling back into the pillow.

It didn’t take long until the man was snoring under Sherlock, seeming perfectly at peace. Happy with the massage, the still conscious genius rolled off of John. Lying down on the other side of the bed, Sherlock turned on his side to watch the doctor.

What had happened? It had barely been a day since saving John and Sherlock was swooning. Never in his life had anyone affected him like this but here was this unassuming army medic fresh from war and Sherlock had fallen like a schoolgirl without too much effort.

_ Sentiment is a waste of time. _

The familiar words ran through Sherlock’s mind acting like a bucket of cold water. His brother had said it many times through the years and it was a thorn that had irritate the genius every now and then. Sherlock’s eyes studying the sleeping man. John looked ten years younger with his face slack and almost wrinkle free. It made the younger man’s breathe catch.

_ I need to keep him alive. _

Sherlock suddenly thought, just the idea of the doctor dying made him sick. Forcing those thoughts from his head the taller man focused on the face in front of him. “I’ll keep you safe.” Sherlock promised and settled into watching John sleep for the rest of the night.


	6. Blind, Dead Banker

Waking John felt fully rested, which was a lovely turn of events and hadn’t happened in some time. He was warm and comfortable. Snuggling further into the pillows, he noticed a weight draped across his chest. Opening his eyes, John spotted a white limb stretched over him. It only took him a moment longer to recognize Sherlock pressed close against him.

The taller man was different, relaxed, and stilled in sleep. John could take his time to memorize the face before him.

Sherlock’s face was narrow with a small rounded chin, sharp, prominent cheekbones, and a small mouth with plump lips. Raven curls crowned his head brushing lightly over his forehead and his skin was pale, unblemished.

“You know it’s rude to stare.” Sherlock mumbled sleepily, shifting his head to press against John's shoulder.

Startled John froze with the contact. “I wasn’t staring,” He lied lamely and tried to act natural. He hadn't shared a bed with someone in a long time but somehow it felt familiar and not uncomfortable, John was still nervous about the prospect to Sherlock next to him.

Sherlock moved again lifting his head to look at the doctor’s face. He chuckled softly, a small smile on his lips. “I’m sure you weren’t.” He countered knowingly.

John felt a blush rising in his cheeks so he cleared his throat turning away to look somewhere else, anywhere else. The plain bedroom offered little scenery and none it supplied was interesting. 

Sherlock rolled away from John, removing the limb from the smaller man’s chest as he went. “Do you wish to shower again?” The taller man asked, sitting up.

John sat up was well conscious that he was shirtless. “No, you go ahead.” He offered.

Sherlock looked at him with those moonbeam eyes before crawling from the bed.

John remained on the bed even after the other man had left the room and he heard the shower being turned on. The doctor was enjoying the feel of the soft mattress knowing that he would be back in the hospital before night fall.

He was already missing the shared warmth from Sherlock and the comfort his body brought. John wasn’t a very trusting person but this end of the world business had affected him and forced him into doing things he had never thought he would do. John found he trusted Sherlock, fully trusted him. Not only because the other man had saved his life but for other unknown reason.

John just felt drawn to Sherlock, it was intense and startling. The doctor would like to think that he was slipping into insanity but the solder side of him wouldn’t allow that. Sighing John concluded he only felt drawn to Sherlock because of the strong presence he radiated.

Not wanting to be found still in bed, John forced himself up and dressed slowly. Even slowly dressing didn’t take long and he headed for the kitchen. Rummaging around, the doctor came up with a box of stale cereal and ate it dry. There was milk in the fridge but he didn’t want to take that, unsure of how Sherlock would react.

By the time John finished his meal, Sherlock emerged from the bathroom bare chested with a towel wrapped around his hips.

Seeing this, the doctor blushed and turned away to set his bowl in the sink to cover it.

A chuckle came from Sherlock who had paused near the kitchen table when he noticed. “Don’t be bashful Doctor.” He teased.

John glanced at the other man and couldn’t help as his eyes drifted over the body before coming to rest on Sherlock’s face.  _ For God sake John! You are a doctor!  _ “Rather arrogant aren’t you?” John threw out trying to make his features passive. It didn’t work.

Sherlock smirked with a smug look on his face and headed to his bedroom.

The doctor watched until the younger man suddenly pulled the towel off, giving John the perfect view of his arse.

Jumping to turn away, the doctor knocked one of the chairs over. It hit the floor with a resounding thud. Without looking at Sherlock, John shouted; “Oi! Prick, shut the door!” as he bent to straighten the chair.

Another chuckle came from the room and the absence of a door being shut told the doctor he was ignored. Letting out a heavy breath John calmed himself, the heat in his cheeks was intense and he went to distract himself with a bit of tidying up.

“Are you quiet done?” Sherlock asked.

His voice sounded nearer and John did a quick glance to make sure the other man was dressed. He was.

“There’s some cereal here." The doctor offered picking up the nearly empty box. Sherlock shook his head and John frowned, “You should eat since you didn’t last night.” Again the other man shook his head.

“I’m not hungry.”

John didn’t believe it but he wasn’t about to argue. Sighing, the doctor turned and leaned back into the counter behind him.

“So what is our plan?” He knew that they were going to go back to the hospital but the details were a little vague.

Sherlock looked him over steadily before answering, “Back to hospital?” Though it sounded more like a question.

John chuckled as he answered, “So we’re winging it? Great! Let’s go.”

Pushing off from the counter, John went for the living room. Sherlock followed grabbing up his coat from a hook by the door where the doctor spotted his own. Going to grab it he was intercepted when the taller man got to it first. Sherlock pulled it down and held it open for John.

Giving him a curious look, the doctor slowly eased his arms into the sleeves. Sherlock then helped John with the backpack still stuffed with cans. The shorter man’s gun was pushed part way into his pocket while the makeshift sword was slung through a belt loop, still easily accessible.

Sherlock was just finishing strapping his own weapon to his back when he spoke “Are you ready?” his tone was rather worried.

John smiled patting his friend on the back, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The taller man nodded and flipped the switch near the door and throwing them into darkness.

The pitch offered no substitute for light and nearly felt eternal, John took a few unsteady steps forward bumping gently into Sherlock’s arm which he grabbed on to as a guide.

Slowly the door was unlocked, the sound of metal on metal screeched sounding louder than it probably was. The doctor winced, the sound seemed much too loud and he fought the urge to hush the noise. Gripping his make-shift weapon tightly, John watched as a sliver of light from the opening door start to grow.

The alley was clear as it had been before. John was eager to get back to the hospital, hoping everyone was still surviving. “Do you have a map?” He asked, suddenly remembering he didn’t know how to get back to the hospital from here. The streets had become a maze when the dead had chased him.

Sherlock smiled, “Don’t need one,” He replied tapping the side of his head lightly, “Got one here.”

John nodded. “Ok then genius, you lead.” He teased gesturing for the taller man to go first.

Sherlock chuckled before pressing forward starting off at a light jog.

John didn’t hesitate in following the other man.

The sky overhead was cloudy and threatening rain, the slight rumble of approaching thunder announced a storm brewing. On days like this John relished the weather. He loved summer storms and it almost made him forget the walking corpses.

“Some broke through ahead.” Sherlock warned as he spotted a small group of meandering figures and pulled his sword.

John pulled his own weapon as they grew closer. Compared to Sherlock's sleek blade, John's was laughable.

The group of dead didn’t notice the two men until body parts were dropping. A few gave hungry growls but none had time to react before they were all on the ground in pieces.

“Have I told you that you are magnificent?” John asked looking at his friend.

Sherlock smirked smugly. “You haven’t but it doesn’t hurt to say it as often as you like.”

John laughed stowing his weapon. “Prick.” He said before Sherlock stalked off, a slight smile on his face.

The remaining part of the alley was clear. Coming upon the dead-end where Sherlock had saved John, the tall man turned to the doctor stopping the other man in his tracks.

“I’m not used to the needs of other people John.” Sherlock said suddenly, his face blank.

John blinked confused by the statement. “I noticed that.”

The taller man didn’t seem surprised by the response, “But I find myself worrying over your well-being,” The doctor smiled but Sherlock continued, “I need you to be careful.” It was a simple request but it saddened John.

“Sherlock,” The smaller man sighed, stepping closer to his friend, “I can’t promise anything. I wish I could, I wish that I could promise that I will be fine but that is unrealistic.”

Sherlock lowered his eyes sadly, he had know this and the request had been a silly notion.

Reaching out, John gently drew the other man’s chin up so their eyes locked, “I will promise that I will do anything and everything I can to stay alive, it's not much but it's the best promise I can make.”

Sherlock frowned looking the least bit satisfied, “I understand.” He managed.

John smiled then hugged the man.

The taller man was like a board against the doctor.

Feeling his friend’s discomfort John quickly pulled away, his face flaming red with embarrassment. “Sorry.” He mumbled focusing on Sherlock’s chin then his eyes, afraid of what he might see.

Without warning the taller man stepped closer and wrapped around John.

It was the doctor’s turn to freeze. His hug had been a spare of the moment in a hope to comfort but this embrace was more comforting than any John could give. Sherlock, the supposed sociopath, was pouring all of his unsaid emotion into the contact.

Coming back to himself John hugged the other man tightly.

They relaxed into each other and the chaos of the world around them drifted away. This man, the doctor had barely known for two days, felt like someone he truly understood and thought the feeling was mutual. In the short amount of time John didn’t want to ever part with Sherlock, never wanted to leave him behind or let him go where the army doctor couldn’t follow. John considered himself straight, having never been attracted to any other man but Sherlock was…he was an anomaly.

The hug went on for several minutes before the two split but remaining close together.

John smiled warmly up at Sherlock mentally cursing their dramatic height difference. “Don’t worry Sherlock, we are going to be fine. We got each other.” The doctor assured, touching the taller man’s arm.

Sherlock relaxed slightly and gave a genuine smile. “As long as we are together.”

John nodded, giving his friend’s arm a quick squeeze before dropping his hands to his side.

Collecting themselves, again the two moved down the alley past the dead-end and out onto the street. It was clear from their point, dark wandering figures could be spotted in the distance. The sky had decided at that moment to open up and begin the down pour. The two men were drenched in seconds.

“Great start for a wonderful day.” John joked dryly.

Sherlock chuckled glancing at him. The tall man’s dark curls were plastered to his head and dripping water.

Without a word they pressed forward, John following behind slightly.

Quickly making it down the street, they paused at the corner to glance around. The next street was packed with stumbling corpses and John was surprised he hadn’t heard the buzzing of the grunts and hisses coming from the horde.

“Looks like this way is blocked, any other plans?” John asked as they leaned into the wall.

Sherlock was looking around, “There is one other way…” He muttered, his eyes weaving around at the buildings nearby.

This went on for several minutes without an answer.

John was starting to shiver with a slight chill from standing in the rain and his muscles were cramping up from standing still. “Sherlock!” John snapped quietly.

The other man’s eyes snapped over watching the doctor’s shaking form.

“Can we please move before I freeze?”

Sherlock frowned and glanced around the corner once more as if to confirm the dead things were still there. Turning back to John the taller man eyed him. “We will have to be quick and hopefully our presence will go unnoticed.” He spoke quickly, eyes darting to the street opposite from where they were.

“We need to get over there,” Sherlock pointed towards the area and his face looked grave, “The dead are attracted to noise more so than sight so if we are quiet and hurry.”

John understood and could sense Sherlock reluctance. He mirrored it and wished that somehow there was another way. “Are you sure there is no other way?” He pressed hoping.

Sherlock sighed and shook his head “None, unless you want to backtrack several miles and go around, risking the chance we'll still be out here after dark.” It wasn’t reassuring.

John looked over to the street, it seemed so far away and yet it couldn’t have been more than twenty feet. Clutching his fists and bringing forth soldier mode, John turned to Sherlock, his body radiating alertness. “What do we do?” He asked waiting for orders.

Sherlock’s eyes widened noting the dramatic change. “We should go individually to avoid drawing attention.”

John nodded. “You go first." The short man said.

Sherlock shook his head, “I much rather you go.”

John glared, “Sherlock, this is no time for being gentlemanly! You go first, your legs are longer and you can cover more ground faster so you will draw less attention then I will.” The ex-soldier growled before calming himself, “You go, then I will give it a minute or two before following but be ready to go when I reach you.” It was clear the man wouldn’t hear anymore argument.

Sherlock stared back defiantly but John could see his friend saw the logic in the words. Taking a deep breath the slim man edged closer to the corner of the building and looked around. “When you make it to me, just keep running and be sure to follow me.” Sherlock said glancing over at John. They locked for a second with deep fear haunting the irises.

John smiled encouragingly.

Sherlock gave a curt nod and turned to prepare himself.

A few second melted by before the man launched himself forward, racing quietly over the pavement. It wasn’t a second more and Sherlock was safely on the other side pressed against the building.

John listened, straining his ears to anything that may let him know if Sherlock had been spotted.

Nothing sounded and John felt relief wash through him, releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Smiling the doctor gave Sherlock thumbs up as congratulations. The other man returned it with less enthusiasm and peeked around to look at the horde.

John copied him and happily noted that the mass seemed to be moving in the opposite direction. It was the perfect time to move before the zombie collective changed. Bracing himself, the doctor gave the dead another look before pushing himself forward.

The seconds seemed to drag by and John felt like his was moving through pudding. Half way across John’s foot slipped and he fell skidding on the asphalt. Ignoring the new sting from his knee, the doctor was back on his feet and running for Sherlock.

Not waiting for the roar from the dead, the two sprinted off. They surged for an open alley halfway down the new road.

John felt warmth trickling down his knee but he focused on following Sherlock. The tall man wove down one alley then up the next. He did this several times before John realized his friend was doing it to lose any corpse that may have been following them.

Surprisingly these alleys were empty and after ten minutes of running, the two stopped.

John was panting heavily and slid to the ground, trying to catch his breath.

Sherlock knelt beside him and began examining the doctor. “Are you alright?” The tall man asked shaking from lingering adrenaline.

John went to speak when his knee flared with ignored pain. Looking down he noted blood had joined the water soaked jeans. “Looks like I scraped my knee.” John joked as the pain throbbed from his knee. Slowly rolling up the denim, he was able to look at the wound.

The knee had been scraped raw and was slowly bleeding. The sound of ripping fabric caught John’s attention. Sherlock had ripped off a piece from his shirt “What are you doing?” The doctor asked.

“We need to cover that, obviously.” Sherlock leaned forward easing John’s leg forward and began wrapping the wound with the ripped shirt.

The doctor hissed through his teeth but didn’t fight as his friend finished.

Standing, Sherlock stuck out a hand to help John.

The doctor slowly stood without any weight on his leg, once up he eased down on the injured leg. Happily the leg didn’t give under his weight but it did twinge a bit.

“Thanks,” John said pressed down on the leg, “I didn’t do too much damage but I can’t move too fast.”

Sherlock looked him over again, still looking fearful.

The doctor gripped his friend’s arm “I’m fine, let’s get going.” He tried to reassure.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Sherlock nodded and looked around. It took a second more of looking around before Sherlock got his bearings and trotted off down another alley. He kept the pace slow to accommodate John as the short doctor hobbled behind.

Without a warning a door Sherlock had just passed flew open spilling zombies in between the two.

John took several quick steps backwards before turning and started running, barely noting Sherlock calling his name. The loud growls behind him told the doctor he needed to speed up if he ever wanted to see his friend again.

His knee protested loudly but John forced himself to ignore the very present pain. The growls had fallen back but John knew he was nowhere near being clear. Pushing himself even harder, he searched frantically for a way out of his situation. The alley he was sprinting down seemed to be the cleanest backstreet in London! There was nothing!

“Fuck!” John breathed, knowing he couldn’t keep this up for too much longer. Chancing a glance, John counted a dozen corpses hot on his trail and gaining. “Shit, fuck, shit, fuck!” He  chanted under his breath as he rounded a corner into a new alley.

This day was not his lucky day and the new alley held a new group of dead.

Skidding to a stop, John spun and hurried back, barely dodging the first crowd of followers that had just come around the corner. Dry, dead fingers snatched at his clothes but he was able to avoid any grabbing hold.

_ I am going to die!  _ John couldn’t help but think as the hungry growls behind him escalated. There was no Sherlock to swoop in and save him this time. In only a matter of minutes the doctor would either be the next meal or become a part of the flesh eating dead. He only hoped Sherlock had escaped.

On the verge of giving up, John spotted a life line, his only lifeline! A fire escape ladder! It had been left down and if John was quick enough he could climb it. The dead may be fast in a full on run but climbing was something they didn’t excel at. Using the last of his energy, John pushed his short legs harder hoping to give himself enough time to climb beyond the reach of the corpses.

Near enough to the ladder John jumped onto the metal. His hurt knee slammed into the surface and it took everything in John not to collapse from the agony. Without hesitation John pulled himself up the ladder. The pressure of many hands grappling at the bottom of his shoes told John he would indeed survive some minutes more.

Making it to the fire escape landing John pulled himself up to lean into the cold metal, panting heavily and looking down on the hungry crowd below. Every head was looking at him, each making one noise or another with their arms stretched above their heads in attempts to reach him. To the doctor's relief none had even tried the ladder.

He stayed sitting against the bars of the landing until his breathing was back to normal and the throbbing of his knee had died back. “Better get going,” John sighed using the bars to pull himself up, “Need to find Sherlock.”

It was a long shot but the doctor couldn’t give up on his friend. A deep gut wrenching worry was aching louder than the pain of his knee. Climbing the remaining ladder up to the roof, John looked around spotting the hospital right away and noted how close they had been before the surprise from the dead.

Turning away from the hospital, John jogged in the direction he had come. The gaps between the buildings were slight and the doctor had little trouble jumping from one to the next. Retracing back, John saw the door the zombies had come from and continued following the alley he was sure Sherlock had taken.

Some time went by and John came to a split in the alley. One section ran back towards the main road and John dubbed in the least likely possible route that his friend had taken. Following the split it took John further from the street and deeper in between buildings.

The noise of loud snarling and hungry roars called John to hurry.

Spotting a group of dead the doctor’s stomach dropped. The dead weren’t moving after anyone, they were clustered around a dumpster that was wedged into a corner. Fear ran through John and he moved closer to see what was going on with the crowd.

From behind the dumpster the doctor spotted the pale face of Sherlock as he fought to keep the heavy metal bin in place. John saw how the man was using the object to keep the dead out of reach and away from him.

Leaning over the edge of the building John noticed a fire escape just below him, he thought of a way to draw the corpses from the struggling man. The doctor kept quiet not wanting Sherlock to get distracted and decided to use himself as bait. It would probably draw a majority of the dead but not all, though enough his friend could deal with them.

Moving along the building John found another fire escape that would suite his needs nicely. Hurrying down the thing and back into the alley, he crept up on the dead end Sherlock was trapped in. John could hear his friend’s struggling breaths between the loud grunts and cries from the dead. 

Moving out into the open, Sherlock spotted John instantly and his eyes widened in horror. “Hey!” The doctor shouted cupping his hands around his mouth, “You guys hungry? Come get me!” Without waiting, John spun around and ran off.

“John!” Sherlock cried but that didn’t stop the doctor as he hurried away.

The drumming of racing feet and the roars of the dead told John he had succeeded in drawing a crowd. Long before they reached him, the doctor was once again on the roof of the building. Happily John noted that a large chunk of the horde had followed him and his plan had worked. Moving away from the group the short man found his way back to where Sherlock was.

The man had dealt with the corpses and they now littered the alley in various pieces. Sherlock was standing over one of the bodies his sword gripping tightly in his hand.  Easing his way down the fire escape, John knelt and released the lever holding the ladder to the alley and watched as it slid down. It hit the pavement with a loud thud startling Sherlock.

The tall man stared up in shock upon seeing John.

“How about you take your time getting up here?” The doctor teased, leaning against the metal railing to look down on his friend.

Sherlock chuckled nervously and sheathed his sword before scrambling up the ladder.

Within seconds the doctor found his arms full of another body. Sherlock wrapped around the short man nearly squeezing the life out of him. Patting the younger man on the back John tried to assure him, “See we’re alright, nothing to worry about.”

Sherlock released the doctor and looking down at him, “I thought I lost you.” He murmured quietly.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” John joked feeling just as relieved as the other man.

Sherlock smiled. “Very clever doctor, how do you come up with it?” He asked, confusing John.

“Come up with what?”

“The diversion bit,” Sherlock clarified.

John shrugged, “Saw you were trapped and had a way to do it, so I did it.”

Sherlock chuckled and looked up, “It will be dark soon, best get going.” He said moving for the ladder.

They climbed to the roof and used it to head for the hospital. It barely took an hour to get to the hospital and they didn’t even have to climb down to the street to do it. They were able to jump down to the roof of the hospital, again keeping them safely off the streets. The scene down in front of the build was still inhabited by large groups of dead though not to the capacity John had seen days before.

“I don’t know if these upper floors have been cleared,” John confessed as they headed for the door into the hospital.

Sherlock nodded and drew his weapon, opening the door.

“These stairs lead to the top floor, we’ll need to get to the other staircase to get to the second level.” The doctor instructed as they stared down into the darkness of the hospital.

Sherlock pulled out a flare from his coat and lit it. The red glow showed an empty staircase that lead into more darkness.

“Let’s go.” The taller man said stepping into the building.

They moved soundlessly downward. It took nearly five minutes to reach the top floor of the hospital. Pausing, Sherlock pulled the door open, he held his sword ready. The door let out a low screech as the hinges protested and he stopped pulling.

John hissed under his breath at the noise gripping his own weapon tightly.

Nothing attacked which was a good sign, giving it another moment the two waited. Silence greeted them and Sherlock slowly pulled on the door. It didn’t make a noise. When it was fully open the taller man stepped easily forward and John was close behind slowly closing the door. It squeaked quietly for a second before shutting.

The two froze, holding their breath and straining their ears. The quiet of the building was eerie and John secretly wished that something would attack to break the anxiety building in him. Sherlock pressed forward, his eyes darting as he made sure to step over abandoned things on the floor while watching for anything from the rooms nearby.

A low moan made the two halt and was quickly followed by another noise coming from one of the rooms. Sherlock glanced back at John who nodded towards the room where sound had come from. Silently they moved for the room.

In the hospital bed, strapped to the frame was a very decomposed body. The lower half of what was once a man was missing trailing grey and dead organs from the torso. The man was wearing the remains of a suit and John decided he had been some kind of business man or banker of some kind. The face was unrecognizable and was fleshless with protruding bone. The corpse had no eyes and they hadn’t decomposed.

The two entered and the dead man gave another growl, it was feeble and weak. The thing sniffed deeply and a hand reached out towards John and Sherlock.

“Poor bloke,” John muttered stepping forward and running his weapon through the corpse’s head.

They left the room and hurried for the stairs. Opening the door to the stairwell a horrible smell greeted them and Sherlock let the door slam closed as he covered his face.

John backed away from the door, his eyes burning and sending him into a coughing fit.As the doctor got control of his body again a hand gripped his ankle and suddenly yanked him off his feet. Crying out as he hit the floor heavily, knocking his weapon from his hand. John kicked blindly, his foot hit something and it growled at him. Twisting onto his back, John kicked again, harder. The grip didn’t loosen. The doctor clearly saw a zombie’s hand wrapped around his leg and slowly pulling itself closer. The hand moved up grabbing his calf.

“Sherlock!” John shouted kicking the things head again.

Sherlock didn’t come and the ex-soldier’s kicks didn’t seem effective as the dead thing came closer. Fumbling John drew his gun and knew he would regret pulling the trigger but saw no other choice. As the bullet left the gun a deafening bang echoed through the floor. The thing attached to John’s leg fell limp and he kicked it off.

Still on his back John glanced to see Sherlock struggling with a corpse of his own.

Aiming his gun, the doctor pulled the trigger startling the other man when the thing collapsed to the ground. Exhausted John sank into the floor, ignoring the throb of his knee and the cans digging into his back.

“John,” Sherlock spoke sinking down beside the man on the floor, “Are you hurt?”

John shook his head, “No just tired, you?”

Sherlock shook his head, “I was going to help you when this came out of nowhere,” he gestured to the still body, “How many bullets do you have left?”

John sighed opening the gun up, “Four, we need to look for some ammo soon.” He replied looking to his friend.

Sherlock nodded in agreement before pushing himself to his feet and reaching out a hand to John. The doctor stood but his tired body protested and he leaned into Sherlock.

It was a sort of half hug and John straightened himself groaning, “Damn! I am too old for this.” He muttered rubbing his sore back as best as he could before leaning over to retrieve his weapon and stowing his gun back in his pocket.

“Here,” Sherlock spoke a white cloth appeared to John. Looking at his friend, the doctor saw that the other man had torn more from his shirt and had a strip wrapped around his face, “For the smell.” He offered. John nodded in thanks and took the cloth.

When both were ready, Sherlock once again opened the door even with the coverings the smell was overwhelming and it took everything from the doctor not to start coughing again. The taller man grimaced looking back at John. A moment longer before Sherlock headed into the stench followed closely by the doctor.

They didn’t find the source of the stink as they wound their way down several flights of stairs to the second floor but thankfully there were no dead waiting for them.

John took lead as he pushed opened the second floor door. He could smell fires burning and hear the low conversation of people.

“Hey guys I’m back!” The doctor called, stowing his sword thing in his belt loop.

A loud commotion erupted as several people raced from various rooms all carrying a sort of weapon. It took everyone a moment to recognize John. The nurse Mary ran forward, dropping the bat she had and flew into John.

“We thought you were dead.” Her voice was muffled as she buried her face in his shirt. The doctor chuckled patting the woman on the back.

“We thought we heard gunshots.” A man said as the others drew closer.

John nodded, “Sorry, yeah that was us. Had a little trouble on the top floor.” A group of confused looks stared back at him. “We got in through the roof entrance." He clarified.

“Did you bring food?” Another woman piped in.

John nodded untangling himself from Mary and pulling the pack from his back. The thing bulged with cans. “Should last us a week at least.” He said tossing it to a nearby man. John remembered meeting most of these people briefly when he had first arrived but in the last few weeks he had kept to himself mostly and could sadly say he didn’t know most of them by name.

“Sherlock Holmes?” Someone spoke.

Sherlock stepped forward, his own sword sheathed.

“Where did you pick him up at?” Another man snapped clearly not trusting the tall man.

A few others whispered quietly.

John held up his hands, “Guys he saved my life!” He said.

“The sociopath saved you?”

John looked to the man who spoke with curiosity.

Sherlock frowned glaring at the man “Anderson! How on earth have you survived, you of all people?”

Anderson was a tall, slim man like Sherlock but with none of the other man’s finesse. He looked more like a weasel than a man.

The man, Anderson, glowered at Sherlock and was about to speak when he was shoved aside as another man stepped forward. “Thank god Sherlock!” The relief in the man’s voice startled John and he looked closely at him.

He wasn’t as tall as Anderson or Sherlock but stood above John. He had salt and pepper hair and friendly brown eyes.

“Garth." Sherlock greeted moving to shake the man’s hand but ‘Garth’ hugged him instead. Sherlock was stiff and looking to John with a look that clearly said ‘help’.

John chuckled and stood back, curious how these people knew his friend.

“It’s Greg by the way.” The man said when he had ended the hug but he was still smiling.

John couldn’t help but assume Sherlock forgot the man’s name all the time.

“How did you end up here?” Sherlock asked and John was leaning in to hear.

Greg sighed heavily rubbing his face, “Can we eat first? It’s been days!”


	7. Planning

Dinner consisted of baked beans, with the two cans from the bag everyone got a little helping each. People milled around before settling down to eat, most stuck close to the rest but a few wandered off to their own areas. There were several places where solar lanterns had been set up giving off a dim, steady light with chairs surrounding them resembling a campfire setting.   
  
Sherlock didn’t take food and sat waiting impatiently as everyone settled in. He sat back in one of the chairs with John lounging beside him. The doctor didn’t take any food either as they waited.   
  
There were a dozen people and Sherlock was surprised that he knew some of them. There was Garth? Graham? Lestrade, a detective inspector for the New Scotland Yard who sometimes came to Sherlock for help on cases, there was I don’t know your name Anderson. Sherlock shuddered; Anderson was an imbecile, not even worth the air he was breathing, and Molly Hooper. Molly was a shy, timid girl, who worked in the morgue and let Sherlock study the cadavers that came in.   
  
A small touch on his shoulder drew Sherlock from his musing. Glancing over he noted John gripping his arm lightly.   
  
The doctor smiled but there was concern in his eyes. “Are you alright?” He asked.   
  
Sherlock held back the surprise that was threatening to overwhelm him. John’s deep concern for him was new to Sherlock. Not many people stuck around long enough to have any attachment or interest in Sherlock, other than his brother of course but that was unwelcomed. The doctor’s depth in his emotions was a refreshing wave and Sherlock felt himself drawn closer to the man.   
  
Clearing his throat and giving his own small smile, Sherlock replied; “I am fine.”   
  
John’s smile widened and he squeezed Sherlock’s arm, the worry in his eyes didn't lessen but he seemed satisfied as his arm dropped away from the tall man.   
  
Sherlock missed the warmth of the doctor’s hand the moment it was gone.   
  
“It’s a miracle to see you again Sherlock.” Molly whispered from nearby.   
  
He looked to her, glad to see she seemed whole and unhurt with her lengthy brown hair obscuring her face and her kind brown eyes looking at him in adoration.   
  
“If I hadn’t rescued the good doctor here I doubt you would have.” Sherlock told her.   
  
John snorted and hit him in the shoulder. “Rescued me? I was doing just fine before you showed up.”   
  
“If almost being cornered in an alley by the dead is just fine.” Sherlock teased turning to look at the man.   
  
John chuckled. “It was my plan all along.” His eyes were shining with amusement.   
  
It was Sherlock's turn to snort. “What to get eaten?” He asked.   
  
“No, draw them into a corner they couldn’t get out of and finish them off.” John answered.   
  
People around them had started to laugh and the two stopped their banter to look at the others.   
  
“Look at you two, like a married couple.” Lestrade said.   
  
John shifted uncomfortable in his seat. Sherlock moved his features into uninterested. “So Geoff, how did you come to be here?” he asked directing the conversation away from them.   
  
The man sighed heavily. “I had every available officer and able body stationed at hospitals throughout the city to help the crowds. When everything started getting out of control I just happened to be here with Anderson. We were overrun with infected and we had to shut down the hospital but they would just die and come back.” The D.I. explained, “And it’s Greg as you well know.”   
  
“But why did you have to have Anderson, Donovan is at least less moronic than him?” Sherlock asked glaring at the other man.   
  
Anderson’s face contorted in anger and he opened his mouth to speak but Greg jumped in. “What about you Sherlock, how have you gotten along?”   
  
Sherlock shrugged. “I had warning and moved to a safe house just for an occasion as this, haven’t been out much since everything went down.”   
  
“And how did you come by John?” Molly asked.   
  
Sherlock glanced to the doctor, who smirked and sat back with his arms crossed. “Well yesterday I was passing an alley minding my own business when I saw this helpless little…”   
  
“Hey!” John said, giving Sherlock another hit to the shoulder, “I am not helpless and I’m sorry I’m life threatening situation was interfering with your other plans.” The doctor was now pouting.   
  
Sherlock grinned at the other man. “As you should be,” He told him before continuing the story, “He ran into an alley followed by a rather large herd of corpses. I was curious and wanted to see how he would fair against so many. He took out a few before one ambushed him. It nearly had him when John was able to finish it off. It wasn’t a moment before another was on him. I knew if I didn’t act the doctor would be the next meal so I dove in. John stood in the corner with a look of awe and wonder as I ripped through the group…”   
  
“You are a complete prat and liar to boot!” John said interrupting again, “Yes I will admit I was a little overwhelmed but once I was clear of the one on me I helped finish off the rest. I was in awe for a moment when Mr. Cheekbones here whisked me off to his lair for the night but I am in no way a damsel in distress.”   
  
Sherlock chuckled. “But I did rescue you so that does make you somewhat of a damsel.” He pointed out.   
  
John made a face. “Don’t forget I saved you as well.”   
  
“Yes very clever of you to use yourself as bait, how ingenious.” Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes.   
  
John copied the eye roll, turning to the group. “On our way here we got separated when a horde came out of nowhere and I climbed a few fire escapes to get rid of the group following me. I somehow found Sherlock. The genius had himself wedged behind a dumpster with corpses surrounding him. I was smart enough to draw the dead away and get Sherlock off the streets. We used the rooftops to get here and came in through the roof. So yes it was very ingenious.” The doctor finished smugly.   
  
Sherlock smiled and nodded. “Yes Dr. Watson you truly are the brains of this operation.”   
  
John laughed, opening his mouth to respond when a groan came from across the room. Looking they saw Anderson burying his head in his hands.   
  
“Greg please make them stop, I’m going to be sick.” The man whined.   
  
“I think it’s adorable.” Molly threw out, glaring at Anderson with a growing blush.   
  
John had his own blush heating his cheeks, he cleared his throat. “Yes well, have we lost anyone else since I left?” He asked.   
  
Greg sighed heavily looking pained. “We had a few leave when you hadn’t come back but they didn’t make it far before being overrun. I tried to convince them to stay but they wouldn’t listen.” He answered.   
  
Anderson reached over and lightly squeezed the D.I.’s shoulder in sympathy.   
  
“I’m sure you tried your hardest. I would have been back sooner if a horde hadn’t moved in around the hospital. It’s only thanks to Sherlock that I got back.” John said.   
  
“So John, what are we going to do?” Mary spoke for the first time since sitting down, “We can’t very well stay here.”   
  
John glanced to Sherlock. “Leaving the city seems like the only option left to you. Outside the city there won’t be as many dead and you can find some place that can be defended easily. “   
  
“I’ll follow you anywhere John.” Mary said and many others nodded in agreement.   
  
“No you won’t,” John told them, “I’m not leaving the city.”   
  
Everyone stared at him.   
  
“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked. They had already discussed this but he had thought that John would change his mind to help these other people.   
  
John looked at him with stubborn eyes. “You’re not leaving the city and I’m not going to leave you alone.”   
  
“Alone protects me.” The tall man said.   
  
“No, friends protect and I won’t leave you alone in a city full of dead.” The captain’s voice came out in those words and left no room for argument. “I will help you get ready and get you out of the city of course.” The doctor assured to the others.   
  
Greg’s lips were a slim line of disapproval but he didn’t say anything on the subject. “When do we leave?”   
  
“As soon as possible, I’ll give a day of rest then I’ll take a small group out to collect essentials, by the end of the week I hope to have everyone ready to move.” John answered turning to look at Sherlock, “Will you help as well?”   
  
Sherlock nodded. John could ask him anything and he would do it without question.   
  
The doctor looked at the man for a moment longer before looking at the others. “So it’s settled.” When no one said anything he nodded and stood. “I’ve had a long day I think I’ll call it a night.” Several murmured their good nights and John wandered into the room he had been using.   
  
The room held four hospital beds with clean linens on the mattresses. John felt the exhaustion deep in his bones and he wanted nothing more than to collapse on the bed.   
  
Pulling out his weapon, John leaned it up against the side of the bed where it was easily accessible. He then pulled off his jacket and felt his bad shoulder twinge. He gasped with the pain and dropped his jacket on the floor.   
  
Suddenly warm hands were caressing his shoulder, kneading the tense muscles lightly. Glancing over his shoulder, John expected to find dark curls but instead he spotted Mary, smiling at him.   
  
“Let me help get those knots out.” She said as her fingers massage.   
  
John melted as the tension leaves his body.   
  
Mary worked on his back for several minutes until he was limp and relaxed.   
  
“I never figured you for a man who falls in love easily.” She whispered.   
  
John almost missed her words with the stupor he had fallen into. “Excuse me?”   
  
“I’m not judging you and I have nothing against you,” Mary spoke quickly, “Sherlock seems like a… lovely man.”   
  
John pulled away and turned to face her. There was disappointment in her eyes but a small, genuine smile as well. “I am not in love with Sherlock Holmes.” He said but he doesn’t entirely believe his own words and neither did Mary.   
  
“John, everyone in there can see the way you two look at each other. I don’t know Sherlock but Greg seems surprised by how he’s acting so that makes me believe that Sherlock doesn’t normally act this way. You change people John and that includes a man you just met.” Mary leaned in and kisses him lightly on the cheek.   
  
A sharp intake of breath in the doorway draws their attention. Looking they spot Sherlock in the doorway looking very uncomfortable. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” He told them, looking at John while he speaks.   
  
Mary smirked as she patted John’s arm on her way by. “I was just leaving.” She shrugged, strolling pass Sherlock.   
  
They stand in silence, looking at one another. John begins to feel self-conscious and clears his throat loudly. “I suppose you can take one of the beds in here if you want to sleep.” He offered, gesturing slowly.   
  
Sherlock glanced around the room. “Sleep is boring.”   
  
“Is that the same with eating?” John asked.   
  
Sherlock trained his eyes on the doctor. “It slows my thinking.”   
  
John snorted, “Oh, Sherlock.” He shook his head and sat on the bed behind him to pull off his shoes.   
  
“What?” Sherlock demand, glaring.   
  
“You are the most intriguing man I have ever met.” John told him, smiling brightly.   
  
“I have no doubt about that.”   
  
“And arrogant."   
  
Sherlock chuckled and moved to the bed next to John’s. He pulled off his coat, laying it on the bed and toed off his shoes before sitting down.   
  
They sit in silence for a moment.   
  
“Do you really want to stay in the city with me?” Sherlock questioned.   
  
John knew that this question would come up and had his answer ready; “I’d rather we get out of the city with everyone else but I’ll stay if it means I get to stay with you.”   
  
Sherlock looked thoroughly surprised by that answer. “Why?”   
  
This is a harder question to answer; one that John hasn’t had the time to think over. Why does he want to stay with Sherlock? Why does he feel so attached to this man he just met?   
  
John sat up straighter, letting his legs dangle over the side of the bed. Sliding forward, he leans in close to Sherlock. John prepared himself for the words about to come out of his mouth. “Sherlock, I must admit I’m at a loss to why. From the minute I saw you I knew I wanted to keep you close and that I didn’t want another minute to pass without you by my side.”   
  
“Even when you contemplated stabbing me with a knife?” Sherlock asked with a toothy grin.   
  
John chuckled, “Even then.” He confirmed, “I don’t want to sound sappy or like a hopeless romantic but I’ve never felt like this before. We have a connection.” He shifted nervously, wanting to look away but Sherlock’s ocean eyes were captivating.   
  
Sherlock looked stunned and a little uncertain. “I am solely an academic being and have strived to keep myself separated from what I consider my vessel for my intellect. My family is the only ones who have ever shown minimal tolerance towards me and I never wished for anything else. Even as a child I wanted nothing to do with those I considered ‘normal’ because normal is boring.”   
  
As he spoke, Sherlock’s stone features melted into something a little more human and a smile spread over his face. “I admit I have felt this connection. I felt it the moment I spotted you running for the alley and I couldn’t leave you to die. John, you're so open but at the same time you surprise me.” Sherlock was giving John a curious look.   
  
“I’m guessing you aren’t surprised by much, Mr. Holmes?” The doctor teased, sliding back on the bed and lowered himself onto the mattress.   
  
Sherlock stood and moved closer to John. “No I’m not but I enjoy being surprised by you.” The lanky man said as he climbed over John to the other side of the small bed.   
  
John grunted in ignored protest and shifted over to make room.   
  
The taller man snaked his arms around the doctor and pulled him into his chest. Sherlock tucked his head on top of the smaller man’s, wedging their bodies as close as possible.   
  
“I didn’t think you would be a cuddler.” John chuckled, wiggling into the mattress.   
  
Sherlock turned his head, pressing his nose into the doctor’s hair and inhaled deeply. “You’ve spoiled me, Dr. Watson.”   
  
“I thought it was the other way around.” John countered and rolled to face the other man. Blue eyes meet aurora irises. “I didn’t properly thank you for saving my life, did I?” The ex-soldier whispered.   
  
“I was happy to.” Sherlock murmured.   
  
John snorted. “Happy, are you sure that’s the word you want to use?”   
  
The taller man smirked. “I am happy that I did.”   
  
The doctor smiled and stretched up to kiss Sherlock’s cheek, “Happy looks good on you.” John said.   
  
“You call that a proper thank you?” Sherlock asked with a frown.   
  
“Greedy bastard,” John laughed. He stretched up once more; cupping the taller man’s face and softly presses his lips to Sherlock’s.   
  
The kiss was gentle, it’s not pushing or pulling for more, it’s just a simple and tender touch. The pleasant pressure made John’s heart swell and he felt the shiver from Sherlock’s body. They lay there, kissing slowly for several minutes and the doctor’s hands slid through Sherlock’s hair to grip the nap of his neck. Sherlock’s hands are slowly kneading the muscles on John’s hips.   
  
When they pulled apart both men are smiling, their faces almost crimson.   
  
“That was…ummm…well…” Sherlock sputtered searching for words.   
  
“Fucking fantastic!” John finished. He could say hands down that that was the best first kiss he has ever had or ever will have.   
  
“Agreed.” The taller man said a little breathlessly.   
  
John hummed in content, pressing himself into Sherlock’s chest and sighing heavily. “I could get use to this.”   
  
“Go to sleep John.” Sherlock said, tightening his hold on his John.   
  
It doesn’t take long before both men were sound asleep.


	8. Connections

* * *

John woke to screaming. He was used to loud noise waking him that he was instantly alert. Turning his head he was shocked to see a corpse ambling towards him. With military trained reflexes, John shoved Sherlock away from him causing the man to fall off the bed with a loud yelp. John rolled off as well towards the corpse.   
  
Happening in quick succession, John twisted to land kneeled on the floor, he grabbed up his weapon, impaled the thing, and jerked hard. The corpse falls heavily to the ground and John was on it before anything else could happen, driving his blade through the dead things head. The doctor lets out a breath he had been holding.   
  
“John?” Sherlock’s voice asked.   
  
Standing up, John noticed Sherlock’s messy curled head peeking over the edge of the bed. “Are you alright?”   
  
Sherlock stands as well, ignoring the question. “Are you alright?” He was eyeing the smaller man slowly.   
  
“I’m fine, what the fuck is happening?” John growled as the taller man joined him.   
  
Sherlock shook his head and pulled out his weapon.   
  
“Let’s go find out.” John said, stalking towards the open door.   
  
The main hall was a mess. Freshly killed bodies were strewn everywhere and the dead were feasting on the unlucky ones, ignoring everything else going on around them.   
  
John could see Greg and Anderson fighting against a small herd with Molly and Mary behind them. A couple of other men were fighting their way over to John and Sherlock.   
  
“How did this happen?” The short out of the two men asked, looking strangely excited.   
  
John doesn’t remember them, the one that spoke was thin and pale; he was also a few inches taller than John. His head was covered in neatly trimmed dark brown hair and his brown eyes were filled with jittering excitement. The thin man was carrying an axe as his weapon which looks very out of place with the tailored Westwood in near pristine condition.   
  
The second man was near Sherlock’s height, bulging muscles everywhere, with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, and several scars cover his face with one cutting deeply across his eye to the middle of his cheek. He looked fierce carrying a bloodied bat and doesn’t seem to care about the zombies closing in on them. This man looked military, his stance mirrored that of an experienced soldier.   
  
“I don’t know.” John quickly replies before throwing himself forward to help Greg and Anderson.   
  
Sherlock was close behind, followed by the buff blonde and the thin man.   
  
Their group makes it to the others just as a fresh horde enters flooding the hall with more numbers.   
  
“Come on, we have to go.” The buff blonde shouted ripping through a corpse.   
  
John, Sherlock, and the thin man cut out an opening for the others to escape. Molly, Mary, Anderson, and Greg sprint through the hall heading for the far stair well, dodging around the few corpses, and the rest were close behind.   
  
Once everyone is inside, they pull the door shut and threw the bolt home.   
  
As he checked over everyone, John ordered. “Everyone down the stairs now!”   
  
Without needing any more encouragement, they all hurry down the stairs only stopping when they reach the bottom floor. The only exit from the building was staring at them, lit up by the oncoming morning.   
  
“What do we do now?” Mary asked as Molly sobbed into her shoulder. The two women are leaning against the wall looking to the group of men around them.   
  
“Right now we all just need to calm down.” John answered quietly just as Molly gives a loud cry.   
  
The buff blonde surged forward pulling the sobbing woman towards him. “You need to shut your fucking mouth right now.” He growled.   
  
Mary stared at him with large wide eyes, looking on the verge of protesting but the fear in her eyes seemed to stop her.   
  
“Let. Her. Go.” John hissed   
  
The blonde man turned his eyes steadily to the doctor’s and he looked about ready to take John on when the thin man stepped forward and slide a hand over the other man’s shoulder.   
  
“Sebby, listen to the good doctor so we can get out of here alive.” The thin man ordered quietly with a steady smile on his face.   
  
The blonde man stepped back quickly, releasing Molly completely, and took on a submissive demeanor.   
  
The thin man nodded in approval. “Good boy.” He pat the bigger man on the shoulder before moving back from him.   
  
John doesn’t like this man and he could feel Sherlock tense up beside him. Glaring at the two John moved over to Molly who was once again pressed into Mary but she was no longer sobbing.   
  
“Molly,” He spoke quietly drawing her eyes to him, “Are you ready?”   
  
She looked terrified. Her long brown hair was a tangled mess and her brown eyes were blown wide, and her whole body was shaking and pale. “I…I…don’t know.” Her voice was strained and quivering.   
  
John could see she was fighting the urge to be sick from the fear coursing through her. A twinge of his own fear rushed through him. He feared that she wouldn't last; she wasn't a fighter and was almost too afraid to protect herself. How did you survive the apocalypse like that? The answer was you don’t.   
  
With doctor mode engaged John reached forward and gently stroked Molly’s arm. “Molly, I need you to do something for me,” He waited until she blinked at him a few times before continuing, “I need you to take a few deep breathes, can you do that?”   
  
Molly nodded and attempted to take her first one, it was more like a gasp then a calm breathing exercise. The second breath was more successful. After several minutes the woman’s body was no longer shaking and her skin had some color back.   
  
“Better?” John asked and she nodded with a tight smile, “Now I need you to listen to me."   
  
Her eyes focused on him.   
  
“I know you’re scared, I can assure you that I bloody am as well, but I really need you…we all need you to be brave, the bravest you can be so that we can hopefully get out of here alive, all of us. I want us to stay together as long as possible but if you are too scared something bad might happen and I don’t want that to happen, do you understand?” John’s tone was gentle with the utmost seriousness he could muster. He wasn't going to lie to her; her fear compromised the group and could get one of them killed.   
  
Molly cleared her throat and stood up as straight as she could, squaring her shoulder. “Yes.” She said managing to keep her voice from hitching.   
  
John was impressed, he could still see her obvious fear but she was trying her hardest to push it back. “That’s great, do you have a weapon?” He asked with a smile.   
  
Molly nodded pulling out a large dagger from the waistband of her trousers.   
  
John smiled and patted her shoulder. “Good, now are you ready?” He asked again knowing what her answer would be.   
  
The woman took a deep breath and nodded again.   
  
The doctor looked thoughtfully at her before turning to the others as doctor mode melts away replaced by soldier mode. “As for you lot, get off your lazy fucking asses and get your shit together we have some dead fuckers to send back to hell!” John’s captain voice was at full volume.   
  
No one argued as they move closer for the door.   
  
“Careful there Captain,” Sherlock whispered, “I just might have to keep you if you insist on using that voice of yours.”   
  
John chuckled, “Eyes up front soldier,” He playfully warned.   
  
Pushing forward, they all crowd around the door with the buff blonde up front.   
  
“We already?” He growled barely waiting for a response as he eases the door open.   
  
The moment the door opened a buzz of moans and groans surrounded them, it was thick, it hung in the air and sent shivers through everyone. Quietly they filed out, keeping a wary eye out for any dead that draw close. Night is still covering the city but the loud singing of birds announces the beginnings of dawn.   
  
The door they exit from opened out into a back alley with a gated dead end. The group crowds together looking cautiously down the narrow road out onto the main street. The buff blonde looked around the group and John gave him a nod before they all start forward.   
  
Moving quickly, together they cover some ground, and make it to the main street out in front of the hospital. They pause at the corner and John chanced a peek. The road was mostly empty but the darkness that shadowed the street made it difficult to be sure.   
  
“Speed it up.” The buff blonde snapped before breaking into a jog.   
  
The others copied him and start off, together they aim for a close by alley. The eight people trudge along adding to the noise of nearby dead with their own panting and sounds of shoes hitting the pavement   
  
John doesn’t like the pace, they were making too much noise. If a big enough horde attacked…the doctor didn’t want to think about that.   
  
As if on cue a large group of dead stumble out of the darkness, almost immediately they were spotted. The walkers let out loud cries and lumber towards the group.   
  
"Shit, everyone back up!” John called as quietly as possible so as to not draw more to them.   
  
There's a long drawn out moment of panic when they realize that they’re slowly being surrounded as other smaller hordes pour from different shadowed pockets and there's no way for them to retreat to.   
  
“This way!” Sherlock shouted, heading for the only opening and it was dwindling quickly.   
  
John felt his heart in his throat as he looked at the enclosing packs and dread erupts in his mind.   
  
They run together, batting away the few corpses that got too close.   
  
John slides by, feeling cold skin grabbing at him. He concentrates on Sherlock’s back as it moves away from him when a scream erupts behind him.   
  
Spinning John spotted Molly not too far away being overwhelmed by dead. It seemed she had tripped and now a few had a grip on her holding while more moved in.   
  
“Molly!” John shouted hacking at the corpses.   
  
There are few corpses paying any attention to him, all seem focused on the meal now withering in their midst. The doctor couldn't move forward, he’s stuck hacking at the slowly multiplying bodies.    
  
Strong hands grip John from behind and pulled him back. “Leave her, you can’t save her.” The thin man’s voice was breathing in his ear.   
  
John struggled against the hold but they were strong, pulling him backwards. The doctor couldn't take his eyes off of Molly’s bloody face.   
  
Her eyes are locked on his, the brown irises burned with fear, pain, and the knowledge that she was going to die.   
  
John has seen that look so many times, every soldier, every person he had ever lost held that look.   
  
Molly’s brown hair was tangled in the hands of the dead dragging her down. She’s gone, she’s not even screaming as she was torn apart. The crunching and snapping of bones melded with the grunts and groans of the feasting dead.   
  
John stared at the spot where she disappeared for several moments, seeing nothing but the constant moving of rotting flesh and fresh blood, before jerking himself from the thin man’s hands and hurrying after the others.   
  
The thin man was right behind him as they sprint for an empty alley hoping it’s the one the others went down.   
  
Luckily John was right and he finds the others crouched behind a dumpster further down the empty alley. None of the dead follow.   
  
“Molly?” Mary asked hopefully, glancing down the alley.   
  
John couldn't answer around the lump in his throat so he shook his head averting his eyes, instead he looked to Sherlock. “What do we do now?” He asked, glad that his voice doesn’t crack. They'll talk about Molly later, now they needed to focus on their survival.   
  
The tall man took a deep breath. “We stick to the ‘getting these people out of the city’ plan.” He answered, eyeing the doctor slowly.   
  
“Well then lead the way Mr. Map Man.” He agreed, receiving a quick smile from the genius.   
  
John took up the rear behind Greg as they head out. Lestrade seemed to be a good man, he remembered the D.I. talking to him a few times before meeting Sherlock. Greg had always been quick with a joke or some insight that John had found helpful. Grabbing the D.I.’s arm, John drug him close. “Do you know those two?” He questioned quietly, nodding towards the buff blonde and the thin man, who are talking in hushed voices behind Sherlock.   
  
Greg glanced at them. “The smaller one is James and the other is Sebastian. They tend to stick to themselves.” He replied, "They make me uneasy, they seem the sort who are up to no good."    
  
The doctor nodded in agreement. “I want to keep an eye on them if I can get your help on that.” He asked.   
  
The D.I. looked towards the two men before looking back to John. “Definitely, they seriously creep me out.”   
  
The doctor chuckled and the two hurry to catch up with the others.   
  
The sun was slowly rising in the sky as the group followed Sherlock. Somehow the group had avoided the majority of the dead only spotting a few in the distance. No one spoke, the only noise they made was their breathing and their footsteps.    
  
John kept a sharp lookout from the rear of the group. The longer they went without encountering walkers, the more uneasy the doctor became. He wanted to give the credit to Sherlock for leading them on a path that gave them space from dead things but at the same time it felt eerie.   
  
Every now and then Lestrade would catch his eye and give him a confused look.   
  
John would just shrug.   
  
Buildings and streets blurred together until one looked the same as the next, John tried to keep track of it but it became tedious. He didn't know London very well and it sorely obvious. Off in the distance they could hear the quiet buzz of the dead, they weren't as active during the day but they were dangerous anytime.   
  
The group had been jogging at a steady pace to put as much distance between them and the hospital. Around noon the pace became too much for the wary bunch so they slowed to a walk. John jogged up to Sherlock, they had been traveling for some hours putting as much space between them and the hospital.   
  
“How are we doing?" John asked as got closer to the other man.   
  
Sherlock smiled at him. “Everyone is keeping up without complaining and we're making a lot of ground,” He sighed, “Are you alright?”   
  
John opened his mouth to answer but he doesn’t know how to answer. He doesn’t know how he felt, his emotions were a chaotic mess. “I don’t know,” The words came out quietly.   
  
Sherlock smiled; for a sociopath he seemed to be very receptive of other’s emotions or maybe it was just John’s emotions. “I saw the way you looked after Molly. It has something to do with the war.” It wasn't a question.   
  
John bite his lip, he was a soldier fresh from war and he hated to appear weak but Sherlock gave off a sense of comfort that the ex-soldier felt drawn to. The genius would never make John feel weak. “Every time someone dies around me, I can’t help but feel responsible. I’m a doctor and a soldier Sherlock, I save people, I heal people, and I’ve also killed people.” He spoke quietly, “I see their faces and Molly has been added.”   
  
“Her death wasn’t your fault John. You made her brave, you didn’t lie to her. You did everything you could. In this world, we can’t save everyone.” Sherlock said, gently.   
  
“I couldn’t save them in the world before.” John countered.   
  
Sherlock took a deep breath. “You saved me.”   
  
The doctor chuckled, “And you saved me.” Returning his own smile.   
  
“And now you are going to help me save these other people.” Sherlock said, nodding towards those following.   
  
John looked as well seeing Mary giving him a tired smile. “These people look like they’re about to collapse, we need to find a place for them to rest.”   
  
Sherlock glanced around at the buildings.   
  
It looked like they’ve wonder towards the warehouse district near the port. Large warehouses were springing up around them and the low buzz of noise from the dead had gone silent.   
  
“Let’s find a smaller building.” The man suggested, spotting such a building up ahead.   
  
“How long will it take for us to get out of the city?” John asked as they aim for the building.   
  
Sherlock hummed, “Four or five days if we don’t run into any problems.” He wanted to mention the satellite phone he planned on using to contact his brother but he decided against it for the moment.   
  
“Not too long, that’s good.” John said, sounding relieved.   
  
They cross the distance quickly and silently enter the smaller building. The door pulled open easily but loudly with a long drawn out screech that has everyone wincing. Hoping the noise hadn't attracted any dead, they all enter quickly and slid the door safely into place. Luckily the building is empty, just a huge metal space with one large door that is bolted shut and the smaller side door that they enter through.   
  
“We can stay here for a few hours and get some rest,” John announced to the group, “I’ll take first watch.”   
  
“I’ll stay up with you.” Sherlock added, laying his weapon nearby.   
  
John smirked. “What sleep too boring for you?” He teased, stifling a yawn.   
  
“Obviously.” Sherlock replied with a grin.   
  
“Would you two give it a rest?” Sebastian snarled, his voice echoed through the entire building. “You like each other, we get it.”   
  
John glared at the man gripping the handle of his blade tightly. His unease with the man now layered with building hatred.   
  
James drifted closer, sliding a hand up the buff blonde’s back and onto his shoulder, “Now Sebby they are so cute together and we should be honored to witness their coupling.” His strange smile ever present.   
  
Sebastian grimaced but doesn’t say another word.   
  
“Don’t worry, we will not be coupling.” John muttered, glad the others seemed to be ignoring the conversation.   
  
“Oh come on doctor,” Sherlock whispered in his ear, “We could give them a show.”   
  
The doctor blushed, shoving the taller man away playfully. “Everyone needs to get some rest. I would like to be out of here before dark.” He spoke loudly, his voice pitching with embarrassment.   
  
The others threw looks of amusement towards them.   
  
No one else said anything else as they settle down in various places on the floor. Mary stayed with Greg and Anderson, giving James and Sebastian wary looks. She eventually laid herself next to Greg who gathers her closer to him. Anderson was nearby looking disdainfully at the woman who was cuddling the D.I.   
  
John and Sherlock sat with their backs pressed to the side door, listening as the people around them begin to emulate quiet snores and the intake of air slowed.   
  
“We’ll let them sleep a few hours before putting a few more miles behind us.  I don’t want to be out at night.” John said to Sherlock quietly.   
  
“Yes sir, Captain Watson.” The tall man saluted dramatically.   
  
John looked at him with amusement. “You must really have some sort of military kink.” He joked.   
  
Sherlock’s cheeks tint with a blush and doesn’t say anything.   
  
John had been teasing but seeing that he must be onto something. He gave Sherlock a wink before sliding a hand slowly up his chest. “Does it make you hard when I use my commanding voice?” John murmured, licking his lips.   
  
The ocean eyes darted to that small moment before looking back to the hand with the adventuring digits. Sherlock doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands as they hover over the doctor’s leg.   
  
John drew out his dog tags with one hand, sliding his fingers up and down the metal chain. The doctor watches Sherlock’s eyes widen and his irises disappear almost completely eclipsed by his pupils, his hands settle on John’s leg.   
  
“What you must think of me Sherlock, just an army doctor fresh from war.” John whispered before flicking out his tongue to grab the chain and pull it into his mouth, between his teeth.   
  
Sherlock’s mouth dropped open as he began to almost pant and his eyes were everywhere, stretched wide with a hunger.   
  
John smiled smugly, letting the chain slide from his mouth and pulled it from his neck. Easily, he let it fall around Sherlock’s neck. “You, Mr. Holmes are going to listen to your captain, understand?”   
  
Sherlock gulped, nodding eagerly.   
  
John grabbed the dog tags dragging the willing man forward, closing the space between them. Their lips hover over each other, not touching.   
  
“You are mine now Sherlock,” The captain growled, “I claim you just as you have claimed me. You won’t be rid of me anytime soon.” To reassure his words, John pushed forward and captured Sherlock’s mouth.   
  
John controlled the contact, forcing the tall man to comply. He kept the kiss slow, nearing explosive. He wanted so much to deepen the kiss, to move into clashing teeth and battling tongues but this was neither the place nor the time for such activities. So slow it was and it still leaves them both buzzing when they pull apart.   
  
“You are going to be the death of me.” Sherlock groaned not so quietly.   
  
John smirked feeling smug. “And what a good death that will be.”   
  
They sat staring at one another, foreheads pressed together, letting their bodies cool. Several minutes passed and John couldn’t help the yawn that escaped him. The excitement and terror from the night was taking its toll on him.   
  
“You, my dear doctor need your rest as well.” Sherlock chuckled, caressing the side of John’s face and kissing his cheek.   
  
The captain wanted to argue but couldn’t find the energy to do so. Instead he released a heavy sigh and moved to lay his head in Sherlock’s lap, knowing the concrete floor will pain his shoulder.   
  


The taller man’s hands start running softly through John’s hair and the gentle movements rushed the doctor towards sleep. 


	9. Reluctant Backstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been over two years since I've added to this fic, wow, and a year since I've added anything new! I can't believe it's been that long! But I've finally finished this and I'll be posting it. Hopefully I'll be posting something new here in the near future! Enjoy!

Sherlock watched over them for some hours. He didn’t get tired like other people; he could spend days without sleep. He had trained his body to forgo sleep for several days so he could put his brain to better use. It was only when he fell over with exhaustion that Sherlock allowed himself to sleep.

As he let the others rest, Sherlock retreated to his mind palace. He had created his mind palace as a young child a way to catalogue and organize information so he only had information that was relevant. There was no space wasted with useless trivia. 

The palace looked more like a manor with long corridors and libraries, separate rooms for a massive amount of knowledge. Everything was dark, polished wood and thick expensive carpets.

Since his last visit, the palace had grown adding a few additional rooms. Normally this was frowned upon but given the circumstances Sherlock allowed it. 

The new rooms held John Watson, almost every moment they had known each other, Sherlock had stored in these additions. Sherlock had even created a John to occupy this space. 

The room was a huge library with a wall made up entirely of glass. It was more of Sherlock’s style then John's. John, or fake John, was sitting in a chair that was replica of the Sherlock’s chair from his living room. He was reading from a book and looking very comfortable in front of the window wall.

Sherlock he had put the substitute John in a cozy sweater, it seemed to fit him very nicely and it made Sherlock curious if the real John dressed this way.

Mind palace John looked up from his book and spotted Sherlock. He smiled happily and stood, setting the book in the seat. “There you are, I was wondering when you'd show up.” He greeted, moving closer.

Sherlock felt his heart beat faster as this John moved in and gave him a lingering kiss. It almost felt real but the warmth of the real man wasn't there.

“You really should relax love, you're all tense.” John stated, eyeing him with concern as they pulled apart.

“I'm fine,” Sherlock assured, “I just need to go over the city maps to make sure we're going the right way.”

The fake man scoffed; “You're already sure, you just stopped in because you feel guilty.” John corrected.

“Guilty, what do I have to feel guilty about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” John said, “Maybe about the fact that you could save all these people in a matter of minutes but won't because you're selfish.”

Sherlock was about to argue but seeing as this was his mind it would do no good. John was apart of his conscious so he was right. Sherlock did feel guilty and was being selfish. “And what does that matter, I am always selfish.” He snapped.

John gave him a long disappointed look, “True but never towards someone you loved.” He countered, he was right again.

Sherlock had very few people in his life that he truly cared about and now John was at the top of the list. “John would understand.” He tried but it was a weak and they both knew it.

“No, he wouldn’t,” The fake man said, gently, “It’s not in John's nature to be selfish. You've seen it, he would risk his life for any of these people without a thought and in fact he has.”

Sherlock searched for a logical responses, without emotions but the entire conservations was based around it. “I don’t want to lose him.” He muttered. Sherlock didn’t want to give up this feeling, he was just starting to enjoy it.

Mind palace John smiled and reached out, caressing Sherlock’s face. “I know but it will be alright, he'll be mad but he'll forgive you.”

Those words pushed Sherlock back the real world. 

The nearly empty warehouse appeared around him, nothing had changed since he'd left but he felt different. Sherlock would tell John about the satellite phone, the doctor would be angry but relieved to have a way out, a safe place for them, and Sherlock would lose him.

Stretching minutely, Sherlock's aching back helped him calculate that it had been hours instead of mere minutes since his departure. Gently gripping John’s shoulder he gave it a slight shake. “John.” He spoke quietly.

The captain’s eyes snapped open and he focused on Sherlock above him. 

Sherlock could see the slight confusion in the John's eyes, knowing it would take him a moment to remember where he was. The taller man smirked, for such a surprising individual John did have the quirks of the average person.

“What time is it?” The doctor grumbled, nuzzling his face into Sherlock’s stomach.

That action sent fire burning through Sherlock body as well as a fresh wave of guilt and he had to take a deep breath before answering. “Nearing evening, we have a few hours of daylight left.” He answered, letting John curl into him.

After a grunt as a reply and several drawn out minutes, John finally sat up and leaned against Sherlock. He yawned while rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “You know you make an excellent pillow, even if you are all skin and bones.” He teased.

Sherlock glared, glancing at his frame. “Not all of us can have well-toned army muscles.” He murmured, poking at John.

John chuckled, batting at the fingers, “I had to work pretty fucking hard to get these so called ‘army muscles’. Come on skinny, we got a lot of ground to cover before night fall.” The doctor was on his feet and missed the grumbling from the man on the ground. John helped Sherlock to his feet. 

“John, there's something I have to tell you.” Sherlock started. He was just going to go for it.

“Can it wait until we get moving again?” The man asked, glancing to see that no one had moved since he had last looked.

Sherlock nodded, there was no rush after all but the guilt clawed at him uncomfortably.

The two went around waking the group. Sherlock approached Lestrade, Mary, and Anderson while John was the unfortunate one that had to wake Sebastian and James.

They had chosen a spot away  from the  others with Sebastian blocking James. The thin man was obviously in charge and it was odd with Sebastian like a henchmen. The two were out of place in the group more like intruders instead of survivors.

John approached them carefully. Before he could even speak, Sebastian sprung up and launched himself forward.

The ex-soldier spun away but still took the blow to the side of the head and it knocked him to the ground. His vision swam and his ears were ringing but John could still see Sebastian looming over him seeming to be about to attack again but a slim hand on his shoulder was holding him back. 

“Now Sebby is that how we treat the good doctor?” The sing song voice of James said.

John watched the fingers tighten on the other man’s shoulder.

Sebastian gasped with pain and fell to his knees completely subdued. 

The much smaller man, James, was standing calmly next to him still gripping the man with a look of near boredom. “I hope you are unhurt Dr. Watson?” James asked, his dark eyes roaming over the doctor.

John pushed himself back to his feet, his head ached but nothing he couldn't handle. “I'm fine.” He answered, glancing at Sebastian. 

James had taken down a man nearly twice his size with one hand. He was definitely someone to be weary of.

“John.” Sherlock called.

John looked back to see that the scene hadn’t been missed by anyone. Everyone looked on with wide eyes, staring.

James glanced at the others and cleared his throat before releasing Sebastian.

The larger man fell forward with a loud noise of relief.

“Come now, we have to get moving while we still have daylight.” James said, helping Sebastian to his feet.

John shook himself and moved back to Sherlock who was watching the two with an intense glare

“I have clearly underestimated that one.” The doctor told him quietly.

Sherlock’s gaze was fixed on James. His brows were knitted in concentration and he seemed slightly irritated even looked a little worried. He didn't speak, something about James was familiar but Sherlock couldn't place it.

From across the room the smaller man held a smile as if he knew what is going on and there was nothing in the world to worry over. Sebastian stood, ever vigilant, and didn't seemed phased by what had just occurred.

“We better get going.” Greg suggested, giving one last weary glance around. 

Pulling himself together, Sherlock gave a sharp nod and moved for the door putting James at the back of his mind.

Everyone stood back from the door as John and Sherlock eased it open. Outside the sun was high in the sky and everything was quiet. A few dead wonder about, many dark figures in the distance with only a few close by. They hissed in decaying voices and hobbled towards the two

With ease, Sherlock and John advance, dropping the corpses in seconds.

When the threat taken was care of, the others exit the warehouse noiselessly and made for the docks. 

Sherlock took the lead once again while John occupied the rear. 

It took them several long minutes to reach the docks and they follow the piers down, heading towards the outskirts of the city. London’s crowded streets were a maze and that made the warehouse district a terror as well. 

Soon the group was forced to venture back into the towering warehouses when tall fences blocked their path. 

Sherlock was silent as he redirected them and made very little indication of his thoughts. 

“Why are we even following this freak?”  Anderson grumbled to Mary, who glared at him and didn't answer.

John came up behind the man, seething. “Because this ‘freak’ is willing to save your ungrateful arse. Now shut up and stop whine or go fend off the hoards by yourself.” He snapped sharply, startling the weasel of a man.

Mary smiled with amusement and the now very pale Anderson hurried away with heated cheeks. 

“Prick.” She said quietly so John was the only one who heard.

He laughed, “Well that's one name we could use. 

From there, they simply move through the buildings hoping to make progress before it got too dark. Every now and then a shambling corpse would cross their path but were quickly dealt with. 

As the day came to an end, John watched the lanky man. He'd come to an understanding that didn't need to be vocalized; Sherlock was passionate, for a so called sociopath. John watched the unspoken concern and fear that were so well hidden cross the other man’s face. The doctor could almost hear the motor whirling in Sherlock’s head as he mapped out their next path. John knew he would never tire of watching the genius at work. 

John noticed he wasn't the only one, James seemed just as interested if not more in Sherlock. It sent an uncomfortable tremor through John that made him uneasy. The look in the other man’s face was not of mild observation but one of barely contained hunger. John would like nothing more than to end the smaller man but with the very aggressive Sebastian at his side that seemed unlikely. 

John was surprised by this feeling, he’d always regarded himself as a gentle and easy going man but James just set every nerve off in his body like an alarm. 

Sighing, John turned to look at the others. Greg was walking in front of him with his head bowed, seeming to be concentrating on something.

“You alright?” John asked, moving up next to the other man.

Lestrade snapped out of whatever thought he was in and looked at John. He blinked a few times, “Just thinking.” Greg replied with a half smile.

The doctor nodded, “So before all this you were a Detective Inspector for New Scotland Yard?” 

“Yes,” Lestrade answered, “For nearly twenty years. I tell you in all that time I saw every kind of murder, death, and none can compare to this.”

“I was a soldier, I understand that. Did you have any family?” John asked, knowing it would be a hard question to answer.

Greg sighed heavily. “Luckily my parents have been dead two years now but I have an ex-wife…” He stopped.

John patted the man on the back, gently. “I'm sorry.” He knew the words were hollow but he meant it.

“What about you, any family?” Lestrade asked.

It was the first time John had actually thought about his family. He'd avoid it but now; “My parents live in the country. I'm hoping this whole thing didn’t make it that far. I have a sister but she was in the city.” He managed to say that last bit without his voice cracking. He wanted to believe Harry was alright but the odds were against him.

Greg returned the comforting pat.

They walked in silence for sometime. The buildings passing by were the same and offered little scenery.

“So you knew Sherlock?” The doctor asked. He was curious what history the two had.

Greg nodded; “I met him over five years ago, he hasn't changed.”

“How'd the two of you meet?” John pressed.

“He stumbled on to a crime scene,” The D.I. said, “He was strung out.”

That surprised him greatly. “Sherlock was addict?”

“Cocain, usually,” Greg replied, “I don’t know if he even remembers that day, he could barely walk. Even then he deduced the crime and caught us a killer in minutes.”

The man smiled at the memory. “I'll never forget it, it was amazing. I'd never had an experience quite like that, it still impresses me. I don't know how he does it.”

John knew the feeling. 

“I took him and had him locked up for the night to sober up. After that I didn’t see him again for a few months. When he did show up it was as a whirlwind. He strolled into a crime scene like he owned the place, ignoring all my officers, and did his thing. Before anyone knew how to react he was gone.” Lestrade laughed.

“Sherlock did this for about a month, showing up every other day to any and all types of crime scenes. Finally I caught him before he could escape again and asked if he would like to be formally invited to the next crime scene. It's probably the first and only time I've seen him look remotely happy.”

“He does seem to like showing off.” John agreed, glancing over at the man.

The D.I. followed his gaze with a chuckle. “You don’t even know the half of it,” He joked before continuing his story; “Over about six months I slowly got to know Sherlock, he's not a very sharing person. Then out of the blue on my way home from work one night I get a weird call from a pompous prat telling me to get into a car that had just pulled up next to me.”

John was engrossed even further.

“Turns out Sherlock has an older brother, Mycroft.”

It seemed there was a lot John didn't know about Sherlock. “Sherlock has a brother?”

Lestrade nodded, “He's a git. He's some high government official that tried to pay me to spy on Sherlock. I did the only proper thing to do with that offer; told him to shove it. I'm no snitch but that man is persistent. Mycroft is very fond of kidnapping and he did it quite often. Sherlock was annoyed by the entirety and told me to ignore the man, only problem is you don’t ignore a Holmes. Mycroft eventually toned it down a bit and Sherlock got clean, I told him that was only way I'd keep calling him, and he's been keeping it up.”

John felt his thoughts buzzing. “So that would make you guys friends?” He asked, remembering Sherlock specifically saying he didn't have any friends.

Greg laughed. “I would say that we were but I doubt Sherlock would. He's not really the type, he doesn't like distractions. I care about him but Sherlock just doesn't feel the same way most people do.”

The doctor felt a lump forming in his stomach, a fear growing inside him. It was almost a pain. Was he falling for someone who just couldn't feel the same about him?

Lestrade must have noticed something was amiss. “I do have to say I've never seen Sherlock act the way he does around you.”

“Really?” John couldn't help the spark of hope that sprang to life. 

“He's almost a completely different person around you,” The D.I. assured, “He seems to forget about the rest of the world when he's focused on you, it's strange. In all the years I've known him, he's never showed in interest outside of the work but you've brought out more in him. It's good to see.” 

John felt himself relax and the worry nearly disappeared all together. “I've never felt this way about anyone. It's insane really, we've known each other two days but I feel like we've spent years together. I feel so comfortable around him.” He said. The words were strange and drew a giddiness. 

Greg laughed. “We can’t help what our hearts want.” 

“Definitely an understatement.” John laughed, he felt heavy after the conversation. He had hoped the exchange would make him feel better but now he had more questions than ever.

The sun was finally setting and tension started to grow in the group. They needed to take shelter for the night or risk being out with the dead. Sherlock seemed to sense this and easily located a small office building with a locked door. 

“How are we to stay here with the door locked?” Anderson snapped but he was ignored.

Sherlock pulled some tools from his pocket without a word, and picked the lock even before Anderson had finished speaking. Sliding the tools back in his pocket, the tall man slowly opened the door. A gaping maw of darkness greeted them, a combined fear ran through the group. Sherlock pulled a small flashlight from inside his coat and shone it into the pitch ahead. Carefully he pressed forward, his blade held ready, and alert for anything.

After a few minutes Sherlock returned and announced it was clear. Everyone filed in before the was shut and locked behind them. They all stood in the silence of the building half expecting an attack but nothing came. After a few minutes longer they relaxed enough to explore around.

The building was only a small office with about four tiny rooms and a lounge area. John liked it, it was cozy and gave them space without spreading them out too much. He found himself settling in one of the front rooms. The doctor moved the desk up against the wall to give him more floor space before sitting down in the comfortable swivel chair. 

John was relaxing back into it when Sherlock came into the room. He looked drained but alert and a little on edge. “You alright?” John asked, the medic in him flaring with concern.

Sherlock nodded and yawned. “Just tired, it's irritating.”

“Well you haven't slept in awhile.” John laughed but his mind went back to stuff Greg had told him.

It must have shown on his face because Sherlock gave him a confused look. “You're thinking.” He said.

Jon snorted, “I’m always thinking.” He pointed out.

“Yes, but something has upset you,” Sherlock deduced, “And it has something to do with me.”

“I’m not upset persay.” John tried lamely, though it was true he wasn't upset.

The other man gave him a withering look.

John relented, sighing heavily. “I was talking to the Detective Inspector earlier.” He paused not knowing how to proceed.

“I see.” Sherlock murmured, leaning back into the nearest wall.

“He just told me some things that got me thinking,” The doctor said slowly, “I was curious about how you two met and he told the story.”

Sherlock’s eyes sparked with realization; “I suppose he told you about me addiction.” It wasn't a question.

“Yes, but also about your brother, Mycroft, whom you failed to mention.” John wanted Sherlock to explain, to somehow make him understand.

“Mycroft never came up in a conversation.” Sherlock muttered, though somehow looked guilty.

“Is there anything else that never came up in a conversation?” John asked, trying to keep himself calm.

Sherlock stared at him for a long moment, seeming to be considering something. “Mycroft gave me a satellite phone.” He said.

John was confused. “What for?”

It took another minutes for the other man to speak; “To call in a helicopter to get out of the city.”

This news hit John like a bucket of cold water, several emotions slammed into him clamoring to be heard. He stood up from his chair as settled on anger. “So you mean to tell me; we could have gotten out of the city by now.” The ex-soldier clarified slowly.

Sherlock noted John’s anger. “Yes, I suppose.” He said.

“A helicopter that could have saved everyone.” John added, the pain in his chest was making him nauseous.

The other man blinked, “Not necessarily.” 

John sprang from his seat and marched himself up to Sherlock; “Why?” He managed with his calmest tone.

“Why?” Sherlock repeated, “Why what?”

“Why keep the satellite phone to yourself?”

The tall man fumbled for a response, it was increasing the number of times he felt speechless around John. Never in his life had he experienced this and on top of it all Sherlock had no control over his raging emotions. He hated that he had disappointed John and now he didn't have a good reason for keeping the phone a secret.

His silence was enough for John. “You let people die, how can I trust you?” The doctor was hurt, his mind kept flashing back to Molly’s wide, scared eyes. She would probably be still alive. “You let Molly die.”

Sherlock felt an ache in his chest. He had known Molly for years. He had used, manipulated, and ignored her for a majority of their ‘friendship’ and yet Molly had always been kind, helpful, and even bent a few rules to get him what he wanted. Sherlock had known he could always rely on her even he wouldn’t admit it. “I tried to tell you about it this morning,” He spoke quietly, “It doesn’t excuse what I've done and I regret withholding this especially from you. Nothing I say will change what has happened but I swear I will make sure everyone makes it out of the city alive.”

John felt tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He had seen death, horrific wounds, and more bodies but all of that didn't compared to the betrayal he felt. He wanted so bad to believe Sherlock but he couldn't. “Use the phone and get us the fuck out of here.” John snapped.

Sherlock didn’t hesitate pulling the slim black device from inside his belstaff. He kept his eyes fixed on the doctor as he hit the only number saved on it. The line rang once before it was answered.

“Brother dear.” Mycroft’s smug voice came through.

Sherlock fought the urge to respond with a snide remark. “How long before I can get a helicopter out of here?” He asked.

There was a low chuckle, “I can see you finally told Captain Watson about the phone or did he find out?”

“How long?” Sherlock repeated not at all surprised that his brother had been watching him. 

“I can see by Watson’s record that he would be useful in the field,” Mycroft ignored the question, “But why are you interested in him?”

Sherlock chose to avoid the subject of John. “Mycroft, the helicopter, how long?” He pressed, watching John’s face morph into one of annoyance.

Mycroft sighed heavily over the line. “Brother dear, you really are no fun when you allow your emotions to control you,” There was a pause, “Is that what John Watson has done? You pride yourself on not stooping to being ruled by your emotions but here you are. Dr. Watson must be a unique individual to capture your attention.”

Sherlock bared his teeth, his hand shook as he ignored the urge to throw the phone. “Leave John out of this and tell me when I can expect the damn helicopter.” He hissed.

John's eyes widened at the mention of his name.

“You are too easy Sherlock,” Mycroft chuckled, “The helicopter will touch down on pier four at two tomorrow. I look forward to meeting John Watson.” With that the line went dead.

The tall man stuffed the phone back into his coat, grumbling under his breath. “Pier four tomorrow at two.” He told John.

John nodded, who crossed to the door. “Get some sleep, I'll take first watch.” He left the room in a hurry.


	10. Moriarty

Sherlock woke to the sound of screaming. Without hesitation he sprang to action, ready for whatever threat they would be facing.

 After the fight between him and John, Sherlock had tried to sleep but it had been a struggle. Every time he closed his eyes, the ache in his chest made it impossible to get comfortable, though in the end it seemed exhaustion had finally taken it’s toll.

 The tall man grabbed for his sword that he kept close to him at all times. He had only one thing on his mind, John. Throwing the door to his room open, Sherlock was hit by the smell of blood and decay. He pushed forward cautious of any noise he made.

 Everything was dark and it was nearly impossible to see the walls around him. Sherlock pulled the flashlight from his pocket and directed it down the hall towards the front door. It was open.

 Quickly, Sherlock moved for it, closed and locked it..

 The main room was empty which meant that everyone was cornered in the narrow rear of the building. There was no signs of a struggle or evidence of a fight so it seemed that whoever had been on watch had either left their post or worse, let the dead in.

 Sherlock hoped it wasn't the latter but a feeling in his gut twinged. Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he focused on finding John. Carefully, Sherlock headed down the hall, listening closely to the quiet rustle of movement up ahead.

 The three doors up ahead were all open and the most noise was coming from the nearest room.

 Closing the distance, Sherlock glanced inside the room.

 Unlike the one he had been in, this one had a bit more space. Spotting the bundles of coats splattered with blood on the floor, Sherlock knew Lestrade, Mary, and Anderson had been in this room. In the farthest corner were four corpse beating against what looked like a closet door.

 Sherlock stalked inside and cut down the one at the rear, as it collapsed it drew the attention of the others.

 They gave graveled cries and turned towards him. Two rushed him but their shambling movements gave Sherlock plenty of time to dispatch them. With one remaining, he didn't allow it to attack before dropping it.

 Letting the silence settle, Sherlock approached the closed door. “It's clear, you may come out now.” He called.

 A moment passed before the door opened minutely, Mary peered out cautiously.

 Sherlock gestured at the downed bodies.

 Still weary, she opened it further and stepped out. Behind her followed Lestrade supporting a bleeding Anderson. Anderson was pale from blood loss and gripped his oozing neck with a soaked hand.

 “You were bitten.” Sherlock said, knowing exactly what that meant.

 “I hadn't noticed, genius!” The bleeding man snapped, gasping in pain.

 The D.I. carefully lowered Anderson to the floor, “ Where are the others?” He asked, looking around.

 “I'm about to check the other rooms,” Sherlock told him, “Stay here.”

 Leaving the room, he shut the door behind him, it would give them at least some protection. Sherlock checked the rest of the rooms but found them all empty, there was no trace of John, Sebastian, or James. Their absence wasn't a coincidence.

 “They're gone.” Sherlock informed the rest when he returned to the room.

 Mary was bidding Anderson’s neck with a ripped up shirt. Lestrade hovered nearby with a look of worry. “That can't be a coincidence.” He said.

 Sherlock felt a twinge of pride, “My thoughts exactly.”

 “Did you see anything that could be a clue to where they went or what happened?” Anderson managed before Mary hushed him.

 Th D.I. growled, “It was that damn James and his thug Sebastian. I'll bet the two of them just waltzed out of here and just left the door wide open. I knew I shouldn't have left them the next watch.”

 Sherlock let his mind fill in the blanks but he didn't see how John's disappearance fit in with it all. James and Sebastian had had a strange reaction towards the man but where did that coincide? “There was no sign of forced entry so the door was indeed opened from inside.”

 “Fuckers!” Anderson grumbled.

 “If I am to pick up their trail I'll have to leave now.” Sherlock said going for the door. A hand on his arm stopped him, it was Lestrade.

 “You shouldn't go alone.” It was true but Sherlock would be faster in his pursuit.

 The taller man managed a weak smile to convey appreciation. “These two need you more than I.”

 Lestrade glanced at them, Anderson was now propped up against the wall and Mary was injecting something into his arm. Sighing, the D.I. dropped his hand, “Be careful.” He said as Sherlock continued out the door.

 Sherlock sped from the building and noted sunlight on the horizon but not enough to see by so he kept his flashlight level. He worried for John but he focused his attention on James and Sebastian.

 The two were a mystery, neither of them fit into the group from the hospital. Mary had been on staff while Lestrade and Anderson had been working crowd control. James and Sebastian were on a completely different level.

 Sebastian clearly had military training but his aggression suggested something a little darker, most likely a mercenary but that didn't explain the loyalty he had for James. The scars he carried were from several types of weapons and non-military issued, torture devices. Whoever the man truly was it was not good.

 Now James, James was a hard man to read. He hid his emotions expertly and kept himself in check. The Westwood suit he wore was an indicator of wealth, significant wealth. Sherlock suspected his occupation wasn't an honest one.

 Throughout his career as a Consulting Detective, Sherlock had been involved in the investigation of some heinous crimes. There were few that didn't seem linked but Sherlock was convinced this wasn't the case. He found minute pieces of information that suggested a larger crime organization that worked through London. Most of the time anyone of any authority that could confirm this wound up dead. Sherlock had managed to find the name Moriarty threaded throughout many cases he had worked, most unsolved. It was a stretch but could James be somehow linked to Moriarty? If this were true then James was something to worry about, he wouldn't be easily out maneuvered.

 As he moved Sherlock drew out the satellite phone, normally he would refrain from using Mycroft but it was dire.

 The line was answered on the second ring; “Sherlock.” Mycroft’s greeted.

 “I know you still have CCTV up in most of the city, I need you to locate John Watson and two other men.” Sherlock spoke quickly, knowing his brother would understand.

 There was several long moments of silence, “The man with Dr. Watson, who is he?” Mycroft demanded.

 “I have my theories,” Sherlock replied, “I believe he may be apart of a crime organization lead by a man called Moriarty.”

 “James Moriarty is a dangerous man, if I had realized…”

 “No need to dwell brother, just tell me where they are.” The younger Holmes urged.

 “You aren't far behind keep heading in that direction, there is a boat docked at a nearby pier. It would seem that is where James intends to go.” Mycroft relaid.

Sherlock barely let him finish before hanging up the phone and jamming it into his pocket. He pushed himself harder, ignoring the jabs of hunger that gnawed in his stomach. He had forgotten to eat last night. Right now John's life was on the line and he had very little time left.


	11. Revealed

When John woke, he didn't expect to feel heavy. His whole body was immobilized by weight but somehow he was moving. He couldn't understand how he could be walking when he couldn't even feel his legs. John tried to shift his head but it was impossible plus he was upside down.

“Dr. Watson.”

An echoing voice rang too loud in his ears. John tried to focus which shot pain through him. He should know the owner of that voice but it was escaping him at the moment.

“John Watson.”

The voice tried again, this time something gripped his hair and drew his head up as well. It hurt a lot. As his head moved, John came the see the face of the speaker. It was James. His features went in and out of focus but it was the same man and he still wore that disturbing smile.

Seeing his face brought John's memories flooding back;

After what Sherlock had told him, John needed his space, he couldn't stand to look at the man who he had so easily fallen in love with. John shouldn't have been so shocked to find out that he didn't know Sherlock at all but it hurt all the same. The doctor had been so caught up in it all that he had let his common sense fly out the window.

Sherlock had been adamant that people didn't like him for his quirks and he didn't interact well with others, so of course why would he share the satellite phone with someone he just met? John couldn't believe anyone with the power to save anyone would blatantly forgo doing such a thing.

He was so caught up in his rage that he nearly collided with Greg.

“Something on your mind?” He asked after John had apologized.

The doctor bit his lip, debating on whether to share what happened; “Just stressed.” He replied. It wasn't exactly a lie but John was too emotionally drained to involve Lestrade.

If Greg knew he was lying, he didn't show it. “I can relate, I'm waiting for that moment when I'm so use to it I'm numb.” He joked.

John managed a chuckle for his sake. “Going to get some rest?” He asked, changing the subject.

Lestrade shook his head. “I thought I'd start off the watch tonight, I know this place is pretty secure but I'm not taking any chances. We thought the hospital was safe and see how that turned out.” He said.

At the mention of the hospital, John felt a pang for those he hadn't even bothered to learn their names and Molly. “I'm still hoping to wake up and find out this has all been just a horrible dream.”

Greg sighed, “Me too but I think we'll just have to hope that we get somewhere safe.” He suggested.

“Well we’re in luck then, Sherlock has a satellite phone, and called for a lift out of here tomorrow.” John told him, trying to keep the anger from his voice.

The D.I. didn't seem surprised, “I thought he might.”

This stunned John. “You thought he might?” He repeated.

“Of course,” Greg confirmed, “Mycroft wouldn't leave his little brother in the middle of the apocalypse without a means of escape. I'm actually surprised Sherlock used it at all.”

“You don't think he would have used it?” The doctor asked.

Lestrade shook his head, “The Holmes brothers’ would rather let the world burn then ask each other for help.”

“That's awful! How could anyone be like that?” John snapped.

The older man gave him a long look, “Now I see. Sherlock only called because you found out about the phone.” It wasn't a question.

“When we talked earlier, it got me curious about what other things I didn't know about Sherlock and he confessed he had the phone.” John told him.

At that Greg finally looked surprised; “He told you about the phone? Wow, you really have an influence on him.”

“Wait,” The doctor needed some clarification, “You're not surprised that Sherlock had this phone the whole time and could have saved everyone we've lost but what's a shock is the fact he told me about it?”

Lestrade smiled weakly. “Do you know why Sherlock helped out with cases?” He asked.

John shook his head, adding another thing to the ever growing list of things he didn't know about Sherlock.

“He didn't agree to help because it saved lives, that was just an added bonus, he did it for the challenge it gave him. He didn't care about the people involved, he wanted the thrill of the mystery. It gave his brain something to do. Mycroft is the same way but even more so.” The D.I. tells him.

“I don't understand how anyone could be that way, how can they not care about the lives of other people?” John asked, saddened and fascinated by the concept.

Greg shrugged, “I couldn't tell you for certain but I do know the Holmes brothers don't see themselves like other people. In fact they see themselves as better and that makes them selfish, but of course they don't see it that way because they don't think or feel the same way as a normal person would.”

John felt like this confirmed what he was already coming to understand, he and Sherlock wouldn't have a future. How could he be with someone who felt this way? Who didn't care about the welfare of other people? As a doctor and a soldier it was John’s job to care about other people and even outside of that he cared deeply. “I see.” He said in defeat.

“Sherlock has his faults but he's worth knowing,” The D.I. said as if he knew what John was thinking, “So many people have walked out of his life, Sherlock just needs someone that will show him what it means to be human, to care.”

“But how can I go against who I am to do that?” John questioned.

Greg smiled and squeezed the doctor’s shoulder in a comforting way. “You and Sherlock are nearly polar opposites but he can be a great man with the right people in his life. You've already proven that.”

That confused John as far as he could tell Sherlock hadn't changed though they had only known each other a short amount of time so he couldn't be a good judge. “How?” He asked.

“You convinced him to help you get a group of near strangers out of the city and got him to confess about the phone. Already he's altering himself to please you.” Lestrade said but it didn't help make John feel better.

“I don't want him to change for me.” The doctor argued.

Greg held up his hands, “I misworded excuse me, what I meant was; he's changing to be the man you deserve. He's not changing just to keep you, he's becoming the man he already was but hadn't had a reason to be.” He corrected.

John still didn't feel better about the whole situation but it gave him pause. He wanted to understand, maybe if he understood it wouldn't horrify him so much to think Sherlock had allowed people to die because he didn't want to ask his brother for help. So far he had seen that Sherlock was different then anyone he had ever met and Sherlock had even told him people didn't like him for that reason. Even then John needed a few days to clear his head so that he could come to terms with everything.

“Don't write Sherlock off just yet, I think that if anyone could be good for him it’s you.” Lestrade said, releasing John's shoulder.

The doctor felt a warmth grow in him towards the man. “I feel like we would have been good friends if we had met before all this had happened.” He said, managing a smile.

“Well I'm glad we're friends now, I don't know how I'd get through all of this without you. I definitely wouldn't survive with just Anderson by my side.” Greg joked.

John returned the laugh.

“I'd better get to the watch, you go get some sleep.”

“I'll take second.” The doctor said but the other man shook his head.

“Don't worry about it,” Lestrade assured, “I'll get one of the others to take over.”

With a shared goodnight, they separated and John moved down the hall. He hoped that there was a room open, it seemed Molly, Anderson, and Greg had taken the next room after Sherlock's.

“Dr. Watson.” 

John had hoped that his presence would be ignored but it seemed that was too much to ask for. He had just passed the close door were Molly and Anderson were most likely asleep when the one across from them opened. 

James had stepped out almost directly into the doctor’s path, blocking the hall. His ever present smile sent a shiver through John as he eyed the doctor. 

“James.” John returned and moved to go around him.

The man copied him, “I was hoping you would join us for dinner, if you have no other plans that is?” James asked.

“Dinner?” The notion of food had completely escaped him until the mention of it, “I don't know, can I expect to get attacked again?” 

James chuckled lightly, “I assure you, you are perfectly safe. Sebby is jumpy especially in an unfamiliar setting. It won't happen again.”

John wanted to say no and the word was on the tip of his tongue when his stomach gave a loud protest.

The other man glanced down and his smile widened, “I'll take that as a yes.” He said with a hint of triumph.

Carefully following James into the room, John scolded his stomach for forcing him into this mess and hoped the meal would go by quickly. Much like the other office, the desk had been pushed to the side to provide more floor space for blankets to be set up. Sebastian was perched on the desk like an overgrown bird, his eyes snapped to John and followed him with a steady gaze, his expression unreadable. 

In return the soldier kept his senses directed at Sebastian, waiting for anything. John also made sure to keep an eye on James as he shut the door behind them. With these two shut in the room with him, John felt uncertain and nervous.

“Why don't you have a seat, your leg must be tiring you.” The slim man suggested gesturing to the only chair available.

“I'll stand, thank you.” John said, he wanted to make sure he wasn't at a disadvantage.

James smile widened and he moved to take the seat. A moment of silence encompassed them before James spoke; “Sebby dear, get the doctor some food.” 

Sebastian moved immediately to a bag on the floor next to him, it was the canned food bag.

The doctor scolded himself for letting that vital resource go without his notice. “So were you a business man or something?” He asked, wanting to know more about the man. 

James waited to answer as Sebastian handed out a can of food to everyone. “Or something, I had my fingers in a lot things. I like to expand my reach and keep my options open. Unfortunately that gave me a lot of competition, that's why I have Sebby here.” 

The two looked at Sebastian, who was ignoring them as he opened up his own can. 

John could see the large man more as an assassin then a bodyguard. These two were something to keep an eye on, in the group they were so out of place, and it felt like they had an agenda that wasn't pleasant. “You were in the city for business when everything happened?”

“An opportunity had come up,” The slim man answered, “I had to see to it personally. If I had realized what was about to happen I may have considered postponing the journey.” He had opened up his can and ate as he spoke.

Hearing this made John even more curious but he kept himself in check as he dug into his own food. He barely tasted it as his mind whirled. “So you're not from London?” John asked, knowing that the man was Irish by his accent.

James chuckled lightly. “I spent some of childhood nearby but no, I'm from Northern Ireland. I've spent some years abroad and lost a bit of my accent.” It seemed he was on edge as if he were waiting for something.

“And this opportunity in London,” The doctor questioned, “Were you able to see to it?”

Sebastian dropped his can to the floor and it made a loud clang, he let out a loud burp in satisfaction. Neither of the other two flinched at the noise.

James eyed John, seeming to be deciding on something. “I was not but I'm still hopeful of the near future, there's just a single obstacle in my way. I don't like it when things get in my way.”

Now John was certain the man was talking about him but he wasn't about to let others know. “Yes, I'm sure the apocalypse is quite an inconvenience.” He said, mildly, scraping at the bottom of his can. 

“Oh yes,” James murmured, “Though I admit it wasn't that, that got in my way.”

The soldier tensed and waited but as the seconds passed he began to feel strange. A sort of numbing sensation had started in his arms and began creeping through him. “Oh?” John managed, flexing his arm to try get feeling back into it. 

James was standing now as was Sebastian, and they were looking expectantly at John. They looked ready to pounce. 

“At first I thought of you as an annoyance but when you discovered Sherlock I found you unacceptable. Somehow you are corrupting and I cannot have that.” The slim man’s voice had changed to dangerous.

Alarms were blaring in John's head as the numbing took hold of him completely but it was too late. The soldier turned for the door only to find his legs had given out, sending him crashing to the floor. Everything was moving slow now as John struggled to call out but a large hand wrapped around his mouth as his was lifted from the floor.

James’ face appeared inches from his own. The smile had turned ugly with anger. “I'm sorry Johnny boy I can't allow you to interfere. I've waited too long to have everything ruined by some boring army doctor.” 

The words didn't make sense to John as he gave into the drugs rushing through his veins. 

“Johnny.” James called.

The doctor tried to focus as his mind struggled to understand what had happened to him. His memories were coherent but it didn't make sense, what interest did James have in Sherlock?

“Sebby we may have lamed Dr. Watson.” The slim man said, not sounding concerned.

John then realized he was slung over Sebastian's shoulder and they were going somewhere. A spark of fear and confusion bloomed in him and pushed at the drugs effects. “Where?” He managed, fighting with his mouth to form words.

James smiled. “Oh good there is something left in him,” He said cheerfully, “Hold on there Johnny we’re almost to our destination.” He let go of John's hair.

John didn't have his strength back enough to keep his head up so his head fell heavy against the broad back carrying him. He's still numb enough that the impact doesn’t hurt but it does jar him. He needed to escape and get back to the others, he needed to get back to Sherlock. 

Somehow James had a connection to Sherlock and it was the reason he had been in London in the first place. John suspected that whatever the reason it wasn’t pleasant. That got him wondering what they would do to him, John really didn't care as long as the others were safe. Deep down he knew, Sherlock would find him and in turn that would put him in James’s hands.

John's limbs were starting the tingle unpleasantly and it was shooting sparks of pain through him. He wished that had use of his arms to find a way to escape.

Sebastian's loud, clunking feet changed tone as they started walking up an incline.

From what John could see they were walking on a plank and the sound of slapping water could be heard. A moment later a white floor met John’s eyes and he knew they had just boarded a boat. 

“This way Sebby,” James sang, “Best make the doctor comfortable while we wait.”

John watched the floor pass by and he tried to lift his head, he only managed a few inches before his neck gave out. This time when his head collided with Sebastian's back it hurt. John kept in his gasp of pain and focused on the whiteness beneath him. 

A few minutes went by and finally John was dropped to the floor, instantly bruising his arse. He winced and looked about. 

It looked like a the control room of any boat John had ever been on, he guessed it was a large vessel by the size of the room around him.

“Impressed Johnny?” James asked, gesturing around. 

“Not really. “ The doctor answered.

The slim man shrugged, “Tough crowd.”

Sebastian stood silently nearby, seeming to be watching everything.

“Sebby,” James snapped, “Get Johnny a nice warm vest and coat. We want him to look his best for when Sherlock arrives.”

The giant moved out of sight for a moment but returned quickly. He had a thick perka slung over his shoulder while in his hands he carried a vest strapped with explosives.

John felt ice wash through him but didn’t get long to feel that dread before Sebastian lumbered forward and knelt in front of him. 

A few minutes of weak struggling both vest and coat were wrapped around John. Sebastian pulled him up and leaned John against the panel behind him. Luckily his legs held but just barely. 

James moved closer and stood at Sebastian's side, grinning wickedly. “Don't look so worried John, this old thing won't go off unless I tell it to. So you have nothing to worry about well maybe a little of worry about.”

That didn't give John any reassurance. “What do you want with Sherlock?” The questions were burning in his mind. 

“We are alike,” James says, fondly, “We are both geniuses, stuck in a world with idiots, and the only source of temporary relief is the ‘Work’.”

John watched as the man began pacing in front of him.

“Sherlock’s been admiring my work for some time now and I thought it was time for us to meet. I'd hoped that a proposition to join me would spark his interest and we would both forgo being bored ever again. Then the whole zombie thing happened but that wasn't even the worst thing.” James stopped and turned to glare at John, “I could handle you being Sherlock's pet but it's gone too far now, your meddling must stop.”

“What are you going to do?” The doctor asked, regaining more and more functions as the time passes.

James chuckled softly, “We're just going to have a little fun but not just yet. We have to wait for the special guest.”

John looked at the two, “You're wasting your breathe. Sherlock won't come.” He snapped.

Sebastian snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Don't worry Johnny, he'll come.” The slim man said, “In fact he'll most likely be here very soon.”


	12. The Great Game

Sherlock pumped his legs to go faster. He needed speed on his side now more than ever. James wasn't someone to underestimate. Sherlock had already made that mistake and he wasn't going to allow that again. James of course knew that he'd be coming so the element of surprise wasn't something Sherlock could use but he had hope that he could talk his way out of the situation enough to save John in the least.

Jim Moriarty had been a name floating around in London’s worst crowd for years and those who spoke the name usually end up dead or missing. He's reach helped a notorious Chinese gang make millions off of stolen cultural artifacts and financed a mad cabbie to kill passengers. There didn't seem to be anything that Moriarty didn't have an interest in and if James was involved with the organization it was a deep concern.

The consulting detective had been tracking Moriarty’s recent crimes and had been close to something when everything fell. Sherlock found a thrill in hunting the mysterious criminal consultant that he hadn't felt in awhile. He'd almost felt a connection but now all he felt was fear. This was a new feeling, Sherlock couldn't remember the last time he felt this way. John's life was on the line and the idea that he could die, terrified Sherlock. 

This fear focused Sherlock's mind and pushed him past the warehouses towards the piers. The outside world didn't matter, only one thing did and that was John. Sherlock would save him even if that meant his life. 

Sherlock was forced from his mind as something plowed into him from the side and sent him stumbling. Quickly he got his bearings and faced the threat.

A small group of dead had come out of a side alley between two buildings just as Sherlock had been passing. It only held about nine or so shambling corpses, nothing he couldn't handle.

Sherlock pulled his blade and cut through the first two in one swing. 

The third was close behind and lurched forward before he could recover. It pressed in, thrusting its head forward and chopping dramatically.

Sherlock stepped back just out of reach and brought his sword around, cutting through the rotting head easily. 

When that one fell, the ones following tripped and collapsed to the ground into a squirming pile. They tried to pull themselves forward but got stuck on the bodies underneath them. 

The tall man swung downward slicing the head from the nearest one but those stand stilling had gone around the pile and were flanking him. Sherlock pulled back to distance himself but quickly lunged to take out the leader. 

His blade hit bone and held fast. Sherlock tried to push all the way through but the sword didn't move. One of the corpses moved in, growl loudly as it reached for him. He wasn't about to give up that easily and kicked out. The blow pushed the body back but it recovered and came again this time with the remaining few.

Pulling with all his strength, Sherlock felt the blade give before sliding from the corpse. Relieved, he swung. Sherlock was glad he took the time to sharpen the blade regularly because it cut smoothly through the two closing in. 

Without hesitation, Sherlock finished off the ones on the ground, still struggling with the bodies. 

A silence fell over him and the world became muffled with only the loud intake of air in his lungs breaking through. Sherlock felt a grown dread in him and couldn't understand why until he felt the sting of pain. It traveled up his arm in waves that seemed the grow more intense with every passing moment. Sherlock looked at his arm to investigate and his eyes widened. 

His shirt had been torn just above his wrist and showed a perfect bite on the pale skin. Sherlock hadn't felt anything, he couldn't even place when it had happened. Looking at the wound, he knew, he understood what it meant. It looked harmless almost, it oozed blood but nothing fatal. Sherlock wasn't afraid to die, death was a normal cycle in life but this meant he would lose John.

Carefully, Sherlock ripped the sleeve and tied it around the bite. He'd have to deal with it later there were more important things at hand. John's life was his only priority.

Pushing himself forward, Sherlock focused on finding James. 

The smell of the ocean grew stronger as the warehouses gave way to the pier. It was mostly empty with a few massive shipping vessels in the distance. Only one boat nearby seemed out of place.

It was a large, white yacht. 

Sherlock hurried towards it knowing it was his destination. From the pier the vessel looked empty but he knew James was on board and waiting. 

As he drew nearer, light from the rising sun stretched the shadow from the boat and darken the area around it. It seemed to be setting the mood for what was to come. 

Sherlock paused at the ramp. 

Everything was quiet, other than the lapping of the water below, there was no sound. It was eerie. 

Sherlock couldn't focus on that, his forehead was already damp as a fever was coming on. It was already starting and there was no telling how much time he had. 

He hurried on to the boat, no one greeted him but of course he didn't expect anyone to. He barely glanced around before following the railing towards the back. 

The rear opened up with a lounging area with cushioned chairs and a hot tub. Sherlock ignored that and moved for a slightly open door. 

He entered a living room that set before some stairs that lead downward. Sherlock knew this was where he needed to be. Without hesitation he descended. A long hall lined with doors greets him. For a moment a sense of dread crept through him before one of the doors further down opened.

John stepped out dressed in a thick coat, “Morning.” 

Sherlock blinked slowly, he hadn’t expect this. “John?” He asked, looking around.

“This is a turn up, isn't it Sherlock,” John's voice is smooth and calculated, nothing like his usual tone, “Bet you never saw this coming.”

For the briefest moment, Sherlock almost believed the trick James was trying. He wanted Sherlock to believe that John was apart of the entire thing but nothing was further from the truth. Sherlock noted the ear piece in John's ear and the way the coat bulked in all the wrong places. 

James must have noted the lack of surprise in Sherlock because John opened his jacket to show off the explosives strapped to his chest. “I expected so much from you Sherlock, sadly I've been very disappointed in your behavior.” His voice now closer to his normal tone.

Sherlock didn’t reply as he searches the narrow space for James. 

“But I don't blame you dear, I blame John. He's so boringly normal but somehow that caught your attention.” John's voice is steady as he speaks.

“Show yourself Moriarty.” Sherlock snapped, taking a chance. He didn’t want to be right about his suspicion. 

Not a second passed before another door opened further behind John. “I'm impressed that you figured that bit out.” James said as he stepped into the hall and smile on his face. 

“I've been an admirer of your work for sometime.” Sherlock said coolly.

“As have I been for you, in fact that's why I came to London I just had to meet you.” Moriarty tittered. 

John stood silently, his eyes locked on Sherlock and ready for anything. 

The tall man shrugged, “What a problem then when the sickness hit.”

James’s smile grew with amusement. “A mild inconvenience, I assure you,” The smile fell away into a vicious look, “The real problem came in the form of a unassuming army doctor.” He stepped forward until he almost hugged John's back, hooking his chin on John’s shoulder.

“He's tedious, boring, predictable, and unbearably normal. Yet he caught your attention almost instantly and in a short amount of time it showed how much you cared for him.” Moriarty spit the words out, his anger apparent. He grabbed roughly at John, twisting his limbs behind his back sharply.

The doctor gritted his teeth without making a noise, obviously trying to relax himself.

Sherlock had to keep himself from rushing forward and just looked on with disinterest. He was trying to formulate a plan that would get John out of here alive.

“I thought of him as your pet, a mild distraction but you made it so clear how you felt. Disgusting!” The sharps words hung in the air and in a second James released John and took a step back, the calm smile back on his face. 

“I wanted you to join me, to share in my adventure. I know how bored you get. I'll even extend the invitation now…” 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and let the air thicken between them. 

Moriarty chuckled but it was not a sound of amusement but of disdain. “How surprising, I have never been so wrong in my life. I saw myself in you Sherlock. I won't waste anymore of my time with you.” 

As if on cue music began playing, Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees.  James looked surprised then annoyed, “Do you mind if I get that?” He asked as if he were being rude and pulled out a cell phone. 

Sherlock gestured and felt relief to whoever was on the line for giving him more time to think.

“Hello?” Moriarty demanded, “What do you want?” 

There was a few moments of silence as the man listened to the person on the line. His face furrowed in concentration. “Say that again.” James said slowly, each word drawn out.

Sherlock wondered who was disrupting the moment and what had gotten Moriarty in such a state.

“Say that again, and know if you are lying I will find you and skin you.” James growled, his calm demeanor completely gone.

A minute passed before Moriarty looked at the men again and sighed,  “Wait.” He said to the person on the phone. James lower it from his ear, “Sorry, wrong day to die.” He glanced at the phone in his hand.

“Did you get a better offer?” Sherlock asked.

Moriarty smirked and didn't answer as he turned to walk back to the door he had come from but paused just in the door frame to look back at the two. “If you survive Sherlock, I'll be in touch.” James said before the door closed.

Sherlock rushed forward and ripped the coat from John then the vest, throwing them away towards where Moriarty had disappeared.  

The smaller man tried to help but his fingers slipped and were pushed away by Sherlock’s urgent hands.

With the threat gone, Sherlock pulled John along. They needed to get out of there as quickly as possible just in case James changed his mind. They moved up the stairs, through the living room, down the plank, and onto the pier. Sherlock didn’t stop until they were in the shadow of one the warehouses with Moriarty’s boat in the distances. 

John fell to the ground and pressed his back against the wall, his face in his hands. 

Sherlock paced, glancing at the man and checking his wound but he was quick to cover it again. It was inflamed but didn’t look to be fetal just yet. “John?” He asked, kneeling before him.

The doctor lifted his head, “What just happened?” His voice was shaky.

“Someone changed his mind,” Sherlock replied, “But it doesn’t matter now, Mycroft’s helicopter will be here any time and we need to have everyone at the pier.”

John nodded and tried to stand but his legs were shaking.

“Do you need a moment?” Sherlock asked, offering a hand.

The other man shook his head and let Sherlock pull him up. Instead of letting him go immediately Sherlock pulled him into a hug. The embrace was sudden and neither of them were ready for it but they still relaxed into it with little hesitation. 

Sherlock wanted to savor this moment, he was going to die and leave John alone, but he wanted to die remembering the warmth from the other man seeping into him. John’s scent filled his nose and Sherlock inhaled it, letting himself drown in it. 

“Do you need a moment?” John whispered, his breath wafting over Sherlock’s skin and creating goose flesh. 

The man tried not to shudder and released John with a smile. “I’m alright,” He said, clearing his throat of the emotion clogging it. 

John gave him a funny look but didn’t say anything.

“Come we need to get back to the others.” Sherlock said and took off, keeping his pace slow and steady.

The two were racing against the rising sun that was lighting the narrow rows quickly. They had to gather the others and make it to the rendezvous. Sherlock knew that he couldn’t go with them. He could feel his fever growing stronger and breathing burned his lungs. He didn’t have a lot of time. Sherlock couldn’t predict if he would die or come back again as a corpse, not that he would allow the latter happen. He was prepared to take his own life before it came to that.

John kept pace with Sherlock even when he started to slow down.  

“You alright?” The doctor asked, concern filled his voice. 

Sherlock felt his strength slowly draining and his limbs were shaking. His body ached as if he were coming down with the flu. “I'm just tired.” He lied with a smile. 

John nodded but kept close to Sherlock just in case.

It seemed to take longer to get back to the others, every second that passed the sun rose higher and higher. Luckily the two didn't meet any dead. Sherlock was grateful, he didn't think that he'd be able to handle a fight in his condition. 

The warehouse door was closed, which was a good sign, when they approached but it was quickly opened when they knocked.  

Lestrade with an ashen face appeared when the door moved inward. “Thank god you're back. I was worried we might not see you again.” 

“We have to get to the pier, a helicopter will be there to meet us but we must hurry.” Sherlock said without a greeting.

“We can't just yet,” Greg said, “We have to deal with Anderson.”

“What happened to Anderson?” John asked, instantly concerned.

Sherlock had forgotten about Anderson. “He was bitten after you were taken,” He answered before directing his next words to the D.I., “Has he turned?” He needed to know the extent of the other man, the virus varied between hosts but it would still give Sherlock a reference.

Lestrade shook his head, “Not yet, I was waiting for you to come back.”

The two nodded and followed Greg to the back. Mary stood in the door, blood coated her upper chest and arms, some even had smeared across her forehead. “John, are you alright?” She asked, relieved. 

“I'm fine, how's Anderson?” 

Mary bit her lip and glanced behind her. “I've done all I can for him but he's fading fast.” 

She looked like she was going to say more but a strained voice from inside the room behind her interrupted; “I can hear you!”

Without a word Mary moved aside and the three entered the room. It reeked of blood and decay. The bodies of the walkers had been removed but their destruction was still visible, splattered blood stained the carpet and bloodied hand prints patterned the walls. 

Anderson was laying against the furthest wall. He was incredibly pale and clutched at a bandage pressed to the bite on his neck. The blood on his skin stood out against the white. His eyes were hooded and sunken into his skull. The transformation was astonishing. “Oh good you're alive.” The dry sarcasm did nothing to lighten the situation.

“Of course we're alive!” Sherlock snapped to his his unease. If Anderson could look like this in only a few short hours, Sherlock definitely didn't have a lot of time. 

Anderson smirked and winced, his hand tightening against his neck. “You always were an arrogant prick.” 

“And you will always be an idiot.” Sherlock knew he should be acting more social towards the dying man but it was too easy to fall into old habits.

“Is that the closest I'll get to an apology?” Anderson asked.  

Sherlock sighed, “You are an idiot but you did always manage to narrow down the case with all the wrong conclusions.”

The man chuckled, blood dripped from his mouth. “Now that's a compliment. Never thought I'd live to see the day the Great Sherlock Holmes actually giving his form of a compliment. I'm flattered.” 

John knelt at the man's side and checked his vitals but didn't say a word. 

“So who wants the honor?” Anderson asked, looking around expectantly.

Sherlock glanced at the others, none looked ready to volunteer.

Anderson looked to Sherlock, “I know you've fantasized about my death, I thought you'd jump at the chance to actually see in through.” He said, sounding amused.

“You are not wrong,” Sherlock agreed, “The world would be better off without your stupidity.” Kneeling down, he could see the extent of Anderson’s condition. 

Black, spider like veins protruded from his skin starting from the bite, they grew fainter the further from the wound. The skin was marbling with grey and blue patching starting to form. 

“Not a pretty sight is it?”

“I've seen worse.” 

Anderson laughed that turned into a coughing fit, more blood dripped from his mouth down his chin. When he managed to control himself, Anderson pushed a gun towards Sherlock. “Please, it hurts. I can feel it in my skin and I don't want to become one of those things.”

“We won't let that happen.” Mary assured.

The dying man smiled weakly. “I've seen some many people get sick and turn but I never thought it would happen to me. For some reason I thought I was going to be alright, I assumed I was going to make it.” He confessed.

“I'm sorry, it my fault this happened to you.” John said. 

Anderson shook his head. “No, it's that prick James who did this. Did you at least kill him?” He asked Sherlock. 

“Unfortunately he managed to escape.” 

“Damn,” Anderson whispered, “I was really hoping I could at least die knowing that arse hole wouldn't be alive causing trouble.” Everyone could see the man struggling to keep talking, his voice was weak and barely audible. 

Sherlock grabbed the gun and brought it up to Anderson temple. With press of the metal to his skin, Anderson focused his eyes on the other man. “Don't worry, James won't be a threat to anyone much longer I promise you that.” Sherlock assured.

Anderson managed a smile and closed his eyes. “Thank you.” 

With that Sherlock pulled the trigger. 

A deafening silence followed as the noise from the gun faded. Everyone stared at Anderson’s body, no one made a sound. It was now down to four and soon only three but they still had a flight to catch. 

Sherlock shook off the moment and stood, handing the gun to a numb Lestrade. “We need to go.” 

“What about Anderson?” Mary asked, “Shouldn't we bury him, give him proper respect?” 

“We don't have time,” John replied and stood as well, “The helicopter won't wait forever and we should have been there by now.” 

No other words were needed, everyone gather what few supplies and gear they had before setting out. They moved quietly as a group, keeping pace with each other. The sun was fully above the horizon now and climbing. In the distance, the faint sound of a helicopter could be heard and it grew louder as they moved. 

Sherlock's dread grew with it. He knew when they reached the craft that would be the end of the line for him, he would have to let John go. He had only John a few days but knowing this would the last time they were together tightened his throat. He'd never knowing a feeling like this and it was heartbreaking to have found it, only to let it go. 

Closer and closer, louder and louder. They had been use to the quiet that noise seemed forbidden and foreign. It was a relief as they broke through the warehouses to find the helicopter waiting but it wasn't the only thing waiting. 

The dead had been drawn to the noise as well and were shuffling towards the area. A man from the craft shot at the ones that got to close but with their numbers growing he would quickly get overrun. 

The group raced forward, firing off their own weapons to clear a path. Mary and Greg reached the man first, he waved them on board and watched their backs as they climbed inside. John moved ahead to get on as well but noticed Sherlock’s still form. 

“Sherlock?”  

“I'm not coming with you.”


	13. Chapter 13

“I'm not coming with you.” The words dimmed all other noises of the world. 

“What?” John asked, he had heard but he didn't understand them. 

Sherlock looked at the ground before looking at John again, pain and anguish filled his eyes. “I can't come with you.”

John felt numb even more so than when Moriarty put the explosives on his chest. “What do you mean, of course you can?” What was going on?

“I'm sorry John, I really can't,” Sherlock fidgeted, “I should have told you sooner I just didn't know how.” His hand griped his other arm. “It happened so fast I didn't even notice, the corpse came out of nowhere.” 

John wasn't listening any more, his eyes had gone straight to Sherlock's arm. Why was Sherlock bleeding? It wasn't fresh. Realization hit the man a moment later. The world narrowed to that moment, time stopped, and colors dulled, intensifying that single wound. It didn't look dangerous or serious, it was just a simple bite with every tooth mark visibly imprinted in the skin. How could something that looked so harmless cause this much pain? 

“John. “ 

John couldn't breath, his eyes were fixed to the wound. They had already lost so much, no one else needed to die or get left behind. 

“John.”

Why did everything feel tight? Where had the sound gone? Everything screamed in John but nothing reached his ears but that voice repeating that single name. 

“John.”

Stop! Everything just needed to stop! Could John just go back to Sherlock’s cozy safe house and listen to the sweet melodies from his violin? Who would play that violin now? Please, just let it stop!

A gentle touch on his face drew John back to Sherlock’s face. The man cupped his cheek carefully, smiling. “John.” 

“No,” John's voice cracked, “What happened? When did it…?” The word fell away. 

Sherlock shook his head, “It doesn't matter.” He murmured, he seemed so calm. 

John realized he was beginning to look like Anderson, a shadow of who he is. John had been ignoring it but now it was all he could see. “We can fix this, your brother…”

“My brother can't do anything, no one can.” Sherlock interrupted.

“We can figure something out, please, there has to be something.” John didn't know why he was begging, he already knew the truth. 

“There is nothing.” 

The finality of words sunk into John and he felt his heart break. “This just can't be it, it can't end like this.” 

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and it was too long. 

John reached forward and grabbed his face, he needed those eyes on him as long as possible. Forever. 

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, locking with John's. 

They stared at each other, the world around them didn't matter and it would wait without interruption. This moment needed to last an eternity. Neither could let go just yet but their time was coming to a close and one of them would have to make the sacrifice. 

They breathed together, stretching the seconds. If any time two people could become one this would be the moment but life is too cruel. 

“John,” Sherlock whispered, “It's time.” 

“Sherlock.”

“You have to go.” 

John gripped Sherlock's shoulder, grounding himself. “I can't.” He said. 

“You must.” Sherlock told him and pulled away. 

The world came slamming back, the helicopter blades roared nearby nearly drowning out the gun fire and growls of the dead. People were shouting and hands were grabbing at John, pulling at him. 

Sherlock helped them ushering the man backwards.

As John was pushed inside the helicopter, Sherlock surged forward and kissed him. 

The kiss said everything they couldn't, it was a promise of a life they would never have, every secret they never shared, every laugh they would never have, and it was a farewell that neither could say. It lasted a second but it burned on John's lips as the helicopter door was closed with Sherlock on the other side. 

John's hand pressed against his mouth, savoring the lingering kiss as he watched Sherlock move away as the helicopter lifted from the ground. He stared at Sherlock's figure as they started to head towards the open ocean. Soon Sherlock couldn't be distinguished from the other bodies moving around the pier but John tried. He fought to find Sherlock's familiar outline but to no avail. 

Anguished, John let out an angry shout and punched hard at the metal door before him. He left his bones grind together painfully but it was nothing compared to the turmoil whirling inside him. 

“Where's Sherlock?” Greg asked, it had taken him minutes to realize they were a man short. 

John couldn't answer, he leaned his head against the door and closed his eyes. 

He didn't care where they were going, he didn't care if they died on the way.  He just wanted a small space to sleep in, maybe then he could wake up and everything would have been a nightmare. Somehow it was all a terrible dream that John would wake up from, instead he had returned to a terrible, boring city only to be swept away by a mysterious mad genius who helped police solve crimes. They lived an adventurous life with only a hint of true danger and only needed each other at the end of the day. 

If only wishes could be granted. 

John didn't know how long they flew but eventually he was shaken by a gentle hand. He almost ignored it, wanting to remain catatonic to the world, but choose to acknowledge it. 

It was Mary, she smiled at him and nodded to the window. 

He looked and saw a massive ship. It was a aircraft carrier, John had seen them many times and had even spent a few months on one. It looked to be crawling with people. Their helicopter was headed towards it so it was easy to conclude that it was their destination.

Minutes more passed before they finally landed. Everything from there moved in a whirlwind. They were quickly ushered off the strip and shown to some rooms. Metal walls and long halls covered most of their journey through the ship. Surprisingly they each got their own room with a bathroom attached. 

John barely noted the silence, once alone in his cabin, as he climbed into the narrow bed and let darkness take him.    
  


* * *

 

A few days passed and John kept to himself, he only let his room to eat. He never spoke to anyone. Some tried to engage him in conversation but John remained silent, it didn't take long for them to give up. 

John was still processing. He shouldn't feel this empty but Sherlock's loss ruined him. They had connected so easily it had felt like they had known each other for years. John liked the comfort and safety he'd had with the man. Now what? Sherlock was gone and John was alone. Of course there were people he could turn to, John wouldn't open up to them.  So he would spend his days aboard this ship and wait for death. 

“Dr. John Watson?”

John was sitting at a table alone, usually Mary and Lestrade joined him for meals but not today. He nearly ignored the speaker as he did the others but his eyes focused on a young man standing beside him. 

“Mycroft Holmes would like to speak with you, sir.” The man said looking uncertain as he waited for a response. 

The name Holmes put a lump in John's throat. What little he knew of Sherlock's brother gave John pause, the man didn’t sound pleasant. Despite everything John needed to meet the eldest Holmes even if he were nothing like Sherlock and it was probably a good thing.

Without a word John stood to follow the nervous young man. 

They traveled swiftly through the halls of the ship, going to places John hadn't visited. Armed guards patrolled with readied heavy assault weapons, they completely ignored the two men. Mycroft Holmes seemed a very important person to command such power.

Taking a sharp corner that ended at a door, the young man hurried forward and knocked on the door before opening it. 

A tall man dressed in a tailored suit. His head was covered in neatly red hair and he wore a look of boredom and disinterest. The man stood near a large desk reading from a stack of papers with an umbrella hooked on his arm. He glanced from his paper at the two that entered. A forced smile stretched his face, looking more line grimace.  

“Dr. John Watson I presume,” The man greeted, “Mycroft Holmes.” He stepped forward reaching for a handshake. 

John ignored it. “What do you want?” He asked. He didn't really want pleasantries to waste any time. 

The smile fell from Mycroft’s face. “Leave,” He ordered the young man, who didn't need to be told twice. 

Mycroft walked over to desk, setting the umbrella down to lean against it, and sat. “Why don't you sit?” He gestured to the waiting chair. 

“I'm fine, “ John snapped, “Why am I here, what do you want?” 

The elder Holmes was quiet for a moment, just studying John with his hands neatly folding on his knee. John hadn't expected this but of course he was related to Sherlock. 

“My condolences for your loss Dr. Watson, I'm sure this has been a difficult time for you.” Mycroft finally said, the words didn't sound sincere.

“Condolences? I should be the one offering those, Sherlock was your brother.” John fired back, he felt like fighting. 

Mycroft sighed and shrugged. “I've already come to terms with my brother's death and I do not have time to dwell on it.”

John was stunned. He'd survived war, being shot, and even more recently walking corpses yet through all that he had never been surprised or left speechless as he was now. Some many of his emotions bubbled to the surface yet he was uncertain which one he should feel. John didn't get the chance to decide because Mycroft moved on;

“I actually did bring you here for a purpose. I want to offer you a position in a team I'm putting together.” The elder Holmes said. 

The doctor was suspicious but intrigued as well. “What kind of team?”

“One that will potentially mean the survival of the human race,” Mycroft replied, “I want you to lead this group of capable men.”

John stared hard at the other man and they both knew what he would say. John didn't want to remain on this ship any kind then he had to and this was be the opportunity to get him out of his head, away from his grief. “When do I start?”

Mycroft smiled, it was still forced, “Immediately. I will begin by compiling reports on the men and women on this station and send them to you for selection in the morning.”  

“Very good,” John said, standing up, and leaving through the door without a farewell. 


	14. Epilogue

Mycroft watched the doctor leave and felt an irritation bubbling in his gut. John Watson was definitely the correct choice in leading his special team but he could have made that decision without outside interference. Mycroft knew John was going to be a handful but hopefully a controllable handful, he didn't need a loose cannon. 

Sighing, the elder Holmes pulled out a satellite phone from a drawer in his desk and dialed the only number on it. It was answered on the fifth ring with a familiar grunt. 

“I hope you know what you're doing little brother and I do insist you come in so we can begin working on a cure. It still intrigues me, out of everyone in the world you would be the one who is immune to the virus.” Mycroft told the grunt.

“And how will we do that when you do not have the proper team to begin working?” Sherlock's very alive voice shot back. 

Mycroft huffed, “Come now,  you and I have enough experience between the two of us to figure something out. A cure should be a simple thing.” He knew, of course, there was a little more to it then a “simple thing”. 

“John and his team will find us the doctors we need to make an effective cure until then I will remain in London on a lookout for Moriarty. He is a threat we should be weary of.” The younger Holmes urged.

“Brother, you were always one from drama,” Mycroft said in an amused tone, “I am also keeping my contacts open for any information regarding James Moriarty. I do not underestimate him as you think I do.”

Sherlock snorted, “I think both of us will underestimate him in the end. We have never faced an adversary such as this.” He warned.

Mycroft chuckled, he had faced far worthier opponents in his career in politics. “Drama Sherlock.”

“John agreed?” The younger man's voice changed to a softer tone, one Mycroft hadn't heard before. 

“Indeed,” Mycroft answered, “He didn't need any persuading, truly a soldier at heart.”

“No, that's just John.” Sherlock corrected.

The elder Holmes was intrigued by this new side of his brother. “I can see why he caught your attention, he's surprising. Which is an anomaly to me, very few surprise me.” 

“Keep him safe Mycroft, I will not have him die.” Sherlock ordered.

Mycroft held back the cynical remark he had prepared. “I will do my best, brother.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this and I do plan on doing a sequel to this but knowing my track record it will be a little bit but at least I didn't leave it at a cliffhanger.


End file.
